The dream, it has been taking refuge;
now all I can do is sit and reflect,
see Angwa and that vestibule of opportunity
when he said, "Go, go to town."
Back then you stood on Market,
chewing popcorn,peanuts, sucking Freeze-eats,
cared little about what awaited you at home,
no worry about gaping fireplaces,dry-throated pots,
even where your stomach could growl.
Not now. We wouldn't just up
and got to town, would not even look
for the shoulder-burdened boys
who used lug joy for single coins;
now pot and person swallow air
to appease chirped throats
before the dream roasts ambition.
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