THREE TOLEDO POEMS WRITTEN IN VIRGINIA

I. In Summer, the Richmond Water is as Warm as a Last Swallow of Coffee

Where I come from
in NW Ohio
the guys would play baseball all day long,
and between innings and arguments
about missed flies and fouls and chicken claws
we'd all, Fat George and Stanley and Little Stanley,
run to the concrete fountain in center field
and drink
and splash on our sweaty heads
the water that on the hottest day
still came up cold
from the deep mains,
and recollected in us
the creak of trodden snow on a cold and cloudy day.
And so was our everyboy's summer
refreshed by the winter that underlay all.


II.

In Willys Park,
hard up against the Jeep plant,
when the tennis players,
tired of being pelted by balls,
stopped our Home Run Derby
and the guys with uniforms
chased us from the diamonds
and the water was too high
to look for rubbers on the island
in the creek at the foot of the sledding hill
and it was adult time at the pool,
we'd leave the bright field and,
going down into the damp woods,
sidle along the crossbar
of the wrought-iron fence above the dam
and emerge again
into the sunshine
of the cemetery
where the peacocks strutted and squalled
among the decades of dead Chinese.


III. In their Winding, the Roads Here in Hanover County May Go Anywhere

The mystery in the country there
is not on the roads
that each mile lie in parallel lines
and go on till they get somewhere,
nor in the fields all full
of black dirt and whitened stubble
or then of green corn or beets or beans,
but in the woodlots
back from the highway
that, unless you knew the farmer--
as I never did--
remained those middle-distance woods
always at the center
as you circled the square
you made
turning toward them at very crossroad.
And it was trees,
maybe elm or oak or sycamore,
if a wood was carried
by a creek out to the crown road.