From Garrison Keillor's Writer's Almanac this morning. (Thanks to my friend Leena for alerting me.)
Small Town
by Philip Booth
You know.
The light on upstairs
before four every morning. The man
asleep every night before eight.
What programs they watch. Who
traded cars, what keeps the town
moving.
The town knows. You
know. You've known for years over
drugstore coffee. Who hurts, who
loves.
Why, today, in the house
two down from the church, people
you know cannot stop weeping.
3 comments:
Now I'm all teary. And I just put mascara on for the first time in weeks.
Beautiful poem. Beautiful images. So A-town.
Gives me waves of shivers every time I read it, though I don't fully understand why. Love you, babes.
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