This is the first line of a novel

By Tom Pescatore

I’ve told so many lies in

my life, I’m not sure how this

should go,

 

I remember Hoffman park

with its old green

bridge that seemed taller

than anything I could think off,

it was worlds away and I never

dreamed anyone could reach

its tracks or know where in

some magically dark world it

traveled,

 

There were those large cement tunnel

pieces outside the picnic gazebo

strewn about and like Franklin’s snake

scattered but whole,

 

There was something of another

time about them, something old, like the gods of

our forgotten imaginings dropped them there

to wait for us and I could stand inside

without touching my head,

they were so incredibly big! I remember my

Father would chase me, how he could

block each end no matter which

I tried and he would grab me

and yank me out,

I could never get away

 

until I found out where the tracks led

and I rode them every day to

gray, worrisome destinations

and guess what, they painted those

pipes green now,

they’re so small and sad

sitting solemnly amid the cigarette butts

and broken glass of 20 years,

 

I looked the park up on

a map yesterday, it was a green square

and there were no pipes and

no children,

 

tho I still think of it sometimes

in the loneliness of night

and I wonder if maybe my father does too

 

___

Tom Pescatore grew up outside Philadelphia, he is an active member of the growing underground poetry scene within the city and hopes to spread the word on Philadelphia’s new poets. He maintains a poetry blog: amagicalmistake.blogspot.com. His work has been published in literary magazines both nationally and internationally but he’d rather have them carved on the Walt Whitman bridge or on the sidewalks of Philadelphia’s old Skid Row.


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