Reminiscence Poem by Keith Langdon

I sometimes suffer from fits.
Fits of melancholy, that in my early teens
drew me to the darkest recesses
of the mow of a dilapidated barn,
or under the pretense of fishing
for aged carp, palm-sized bluegill,
and yellowbelly catfish,
lured me to the weedy banks
of a muddy creek –
where I sat and cried.
Cried because my shoulders
bore the insufferable weight
of groanings, foreign and new,
that daily took root in my gut,
and I struggled to manage the flooding within.
Cried because I had yet to find
purpose or worth,
and cried because she lived
a bicycle trip of an hour away,
and I couldn’t follow the sound of her voice.

Improper it would be, I’m sure,
to dirty permanent- press clothes
by venturing into abandoned barns,
or stumbling down eroded creek banks
in search of a grassy clearing, but still –
I sometimes suffer from fits.