Going Home Poem by James Gibbons

Mighty in their efforts, breathing their harsh songs
mountains and deserts sit in solitary splendor
romantic trails shaped by shadows and shade

Like all living things; quietly, quaintly
in a small Georgia town time forgot
oil stained dirty concrete, pay inside sign said
Over the sagging fence, painted with sunshine and age,

Tables of shirts once lived in, stacked folded again
by the young girl on an ice cream social chair
that in sweeter times graced a proper parlor.
And in the duusty store festooned with merchandise
hanging from every conceivable cornice.
much like an overloaded Christman tree.

Round wrinkled faced smiling lady cashier
carried her years like the cat on the counter
snoozing away what's left of its feline time.

We talked, I liked her with her sun washed ways.
She gave me the keys to the outside john.
Crumpled hand drying paper on the floor,
amber colored pee in the stained toilet.
My wife refused to get out of the car,
said the lady's room was undoubtedly dirty.

I love donuts and coffee when traveling,
crispy short cake with crusts of crunchy icing.
Broke off a morsel of this tempting offering,
and she did eat of it much like Eve so long ago.
And like Adam, barred forever from his garden,
I too cAn never go home.