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I Drive to Portland
I drive to Portland
with a list of errands.
and three objects to remind me:
a photo disc to copy,
a post card announcing
a show of prints by a friend,
a shopping list for the Italian grocery.
At the toll station in Gardiner
I reach into a bag of CDs and pick
at random a revival of ³Me and My Girl.²
The only cut that interests me is the title song.
Driving in and out of the rain.
I push the repeat button over and over.
As I reach Casco Bay, lightening flashes
across the darkening sky.
I determine not to look up at the
vast, brooding hospital on the hill
I push the repeat button again
³Me and my girl
Thereıs no use pretending
We donıt know the ending²
For a brief, eternal moment
I think Iıll drive to the hospital
enter the familiar, stomach-turning
lobby, take the multi-purpose elevator
for visitors, for cleaners with mops and sloshing pails,
patients with IVs up from the operating room,
a corpse in a body bag.
And the sign that says
Stay home if you have a cold,
Washing your hands is the best
Prevention of infection.
I step out at the fifth floor
walk down the long dark corridor
grab a yellow gown on the cart
and look into the empty room.
Iıve reached my exit, but the radiation from the blast
clings to me: the disc is unprintable,
the Italian grocery is closed.
the gallery is locked for a memorial service.
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