Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Snow globe


Cruising down Richmond Street East
Wet white streets, tires kicking up snow

Dad points out the landmarks
Stores that used to be factories
Million-dollar homes that were once ghettos
Streets that he and my mother walked
Hand-in-hand as teenagers
A building on King Street, brickwork laid
Twenty years ago by him and my grandfather
Their touch, forever embedded in the cement
A commonplace kind of immortality

The drive stokes my appetite
I want to know this city, all of it
Be part of it in touch and spirit and memory
Hear the stories and legends and history
My city, a familiar book
Pages dog-eared, cover torn
Passages learned and spoken by heart.

2 comments:

Dorkmaster Flek said...

I like that one. Much more uplifting than December's more sombre entries. :)

Urban Folk said...

See? I write some bullshit about blood in the streets and you write about how your dad helped build this city. You're good. Very, very good.