The Ohio
Seven miles south of anywhere
You'd rather be, it is autumn.
What sweetened shrivels,
What shriveled falls,
And what fell is leaf-rot,
A sick rich scent in the air.
You are paling, you are bored,
You are zipping up your jacket
And walking into a dynamo
Of twilight and raw wind,
Tossing your hair as a brief bruise
Of pink scores the horizon.
Seven miles north, below the lights
From bars and dance halls
Of small towns, the Ohio swells
With a cargo of barges,
And catfish twist through the bones
Of what never bothered to rise.
The following works were selected from The Last Nostalgia...
The Ohio | Death in Orange County | Photograph: Being Sad | Your Shadow | To a Woman Passing By | Adult Situations | Tropical Courtyard | Page
For more info on Joe Bolton, visit: The Joe Bolton I knew | Remembering Joe Bolton