… a town like no other,
and I don’t know
where I’m going.
If it were like another,
would I know?
When the red light turns
green and a horn behind me
blasts, I pause to acknowledge
what isn’t there: the well-worn
map, a friendly postman, the cage
with the parrot that will not speak
unless plied with gin.
The horn blasts again
as the light changes back,
to red. I roll on, drifting
through this town like no other.
Going — where?
Mary, this is a different sort of poem for you — I like it! Love the parrot who needs gin to speak!
“Going – where” — I hope where you are going is to have lunch with me again soon!
Nice development of a dream feel in this poem. The Twilight Zone returns. Love the detail of the parrot, brings the ring of truth to a fantasy land.