Briesmeister

Theres something pretty
And something oppressive
That hits me on some summer mornings

When I see the dew hanging and spider webs drying
And hear the cars fire up and go

Then I remember old Mr Briesmeister
With his lunch box to the Case Works headed
50s morning sidewalked Racine

He’d been out six weeks
Going back with his rail road engineer hat,
And his apron bluejeans
To make tractors
Shoulders sagging
As he caught the bus

From the bus stop
In front of the yard

Where we would find a ball, A ball and a bat,
And play all day
Where the rabbit hole was the pitcher’s mound

Oh, then
The sound of Mrs Briesmeister wailing
She a German of precise petunias
With the one backyard our army couldn’t traverse

Mr Briesmeister coming back from furlough
Had a heart attack
Had to go to work for some steel-eyed reason and croak
On the assembly line
And the neighborhood ladies
Then sadly saddled up the walk
Struddle, coffee, empty space, tears

Come back to me as a burden that lumbers
Bonnie in langour
Summer morningsstill.

Last update: 1/13/2005; 8:43:28 PM.