11 East St

Back there where
the bay
window was,
behind 
the washing
machine
and next to
the screened
porch. Back there
where the
records were.
Back there
I go in
my mind
and three songs
jump out.

Who you been loving since I been gone? A long tall man with a red coat on. Good for nothing baby, you’ve been doing me wrong. Who you been loving since I been gone? Who you been loving since I been gone?

Sometimes you
hear sounds
you never
could hear
before, and 
that’s how
it was at
Tim’s house,
in the back
room, the
bay window
prisming
the scoop of
green lawn,
your eye lost
in the 
distant horse
fields as
the snare, it
snared you.

Well, someone told me yesterday: That when you throw your love away, you act as if you just don’t care. You look as if you’re going somewhere. But I just can’t convince myself. I couldn’t live with no one else. And I can only play that part, and sit and nurse my broken heart.

It’s just how
some songs
break the air
and make
your guts or
your ribs,
maybe your
nuts, go,
ha! Go, oh!
Maybe
it was just
the room,
the window,
Tim on
the stereo,
pushing
the music
around.

Anthony works in a grocery store, saving his pennies for someday. Mama Leone left a note on the door. She said, “Sonny move out to the country.” Ah, but working too hard can give you a heart attack. You oughta know by now. Who needs a house out in Hackensack? Is that all you get for your money?

I’ll bet we
all found
a song there
in that
mythical
room of
sound, noise, and
friendship,
in that wing 
of the
labyrinth,
there on
Eleven
East Street,
playing those
records.

MB 12/2/2021

Back there where
the bay
window was,
behind
the washing
machine
and next to
the screened
porch. Back there
where the
records were.
Back there
I go in
my mind
and three songs
jump out.