Where I Hail From

Where I Hail From

I hail from winding dirt paths hidden
under the watchful whispery quaking aspens.
I was born of lichens and crab-apples.
Hear the drowsy frowsy buzzing of the hornets
orbiting their papier mache planets.

I hail from the oldest- you -set –the- example,
and four-eyes, bookworm, teacher’s pet, the names still sting.
I was born of the elfin pixie cut, the green shag rug,
the Spirit of 76 and fried green tomatoes
on a breathless Michigan summer oven evening.

I hail from tornado watches across Seneca, Hancock
and Lenawee counties from the basement where I was moored.
I was born of Dee, and a Richard who is a Dick,
woodworking hobbyist, prodigious producer of paddles,
twisted brand of justice applied across the board.

I hail from Fischer Price, Barbies, Weeble Wobbles and
Nancy Drew.  Ziggy combs, nanoo nanoo, white leather rollerskates.
I was born of Ohio Skate, Aquarius Athletic Club, Olde Towne Arcade
and Frischs’ Hot Fudge Sundae Cake.  Ten dollars spent on Asteroids
just to get my name on the screen – TMG - and tempt the fates.

I hail from a long line of artists, whose pictures are now faded.
Look on my walls to see proof of their existence in a swash of ink.
I was born of art for Art’s sake, of dreams carefully shelved; like
pickled zucchini jars gathering dust in the drowsy frowsy basement,
The motes swirl magnetically, comets racing towards the brink.