Main Street Treasure Chest

Excited days,
The old days,
Cavernous slabs of cement fly
Under my feet,
Large trucks growling
Within an arm’s reach.
The shade of maples welcome
Here and there,
As I rushed from bright blistering pools
Of summer sun.

Rubber sneaker soles skidding,
A sweat slickened arm resting
On the curbside mailbox,
The corner
Of Pearl and Main is where Carnegie had left
his legacy.

A throat filled with cobwebs,
And a spear in my right side,
My eyes rose to meet
It’s solemn stare.

Beyond the scarred but solid
Doors lie
The stairs that ascend
To another land.

A land of shadows, and the smell of rubber cement.

A land of hisses of silence
From a white haired lady wearing a purple shawl.

A land of sinister sentries
Of oak, keepers of dreams,
Standing to the ceiling,
Their arms holding the rainbow
Colored spines of creatures contained
In dusty covers.

A land where Thomas Paine
And Twain conspire
Around a back corner.

A land where King’s Pennywise
And Thoreau’s Walden wait
For my dirty fingers to pull
Their thoughts to my eyes.

A land where a ninety seven pound
Nobody slips into new skin,
Becoming King Tut,
Painting a fence for Sawyer,
Shooting to the outer limits of Space,
And smelling the smoke of the Napoleons at Gettysburg.

Hidden in the echoes,
Lay my promise,
My hope.
My dreams.

With those thoughts,
I place my right foot forward
Onto the chipped concrete step,
My hand resting on the wrought iron rail,
And my journey begins.