Strawn Poem by John Parsons

We drive on and on,
Past Mineral Wells, urbanization, to Strawn.
A living relic, ancient
Almost, and eventually, archaic.

Buildings, once glorious in the past
Like the Sutterfields, razed.
Our family's road, dirt, old and phased.
The old empty house, lost its breath, holding its mouth aghast.

My own Ur de Chaldee-
We're identical, yet-
I'm the North Pole, it's the South Pole.
I'm there, yet, I am not, and I bet-

That couple, with a departed baby
Is forever with me, and for anyone whos graves they see.

(15 May 2008)
(Justin, Texas)