A Patron at Mitchell's Bar in Lambertville, NJ 2011
Somewhere East
by Robin Stout
A Buick carries Carl
down a highway lined
with porches.
Past the dead farms and dead
grass the cows only pretend
to eat.
Past the porches where sit men
who complain of sleeves
in August sit women who sit
and complain of lead clouds,
who watch for storms
and for mail.
This town grows old
with heat,
the wide planks of barns
bleached to pale conversation.
And somewhere east
to Chicago, even the dogs
have fled.
© Robin Stout 2011
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