ELEGY TO BOX 181
When we lived in Village Green and could hear the
ringing of the turnpike tires
all day and all night
we needed a PO Box for our
New Directions support group
181 sounded fine
Young Dan and I would crawl under the railroad bridge
daring it to fall on us
Impossible
We never believed he would grow up and have children
of his own
A fine blue-eyed boy like his dad
buried in Ardmore, Texas.
181 is no more but I remember carefully turning
the dial, this way and that.
Use it my successor and bring
peace to the world.
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