Miracle On Barbour Street Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Quiet.
Peaceful.
And not one syllable,
Of a cuss word heard.
Children are laughing and playing.
Fathers are strolling hand in hand,
With their actual children.
And mothers are seen,
Exposing less cleavage.
And the air is free,
Of the scent of weed!
They all appear to be dreadlocked.
With faces shining like gold!

'I will count to three.
And when I do...
You will not remember a thing!
1-2-3...
SNAP out of it! '

Thank you doctor.
I think my taste for nicotine,
Is diminishing.

'We are making some progress.
However...
You keep returning to this place,
In your visions.'

What place?
What are you talking about?

'It sounds delightful.
I'll call it Miracle On Barbour Street.
I will take detailed notes,
And share them with you...
At the end of your visit.
I think you digress to a time,
Many many years ago!
It must be a place you are channeling.
From a different life.
Would you like to schedule another session? '

Yes.
Record me next time.
I often dream of seeing the pyramids!
I bet my ancestors are trying to contact me.
Should I continue to take the medication?

'Yes...
Of course.
We are making much progress.'