Bakersfield
By W. Gosnell
It was the kind of town
that inspires wayward
children to sell lemonade.
But who can know the good
and bad news behind the
clapboard dwellings along
the sleepy lanes of
Yesterdays towns.
A white figure hangs
laundry next to a barn
and the aroma of rhubarb pie
enters the yard through
an open window.
A winsome melody travels
backwards through a light
blue apron that flaps on
a wind rocked clothesline.
There’s clearly work to be done
on a common afternoon
in a forgotten town.
A flattened Coke can
glitters in the street,
someone left the screen door
open at the house on the corner
of Orchard and Elm,
a stray cat runs out of
the alley behind a closed
gas station next to the
Presbyterian church.
Who knows how to keep track
of time in a forgotten town.
How can such a small bucket
standing on the bottom step
of a wooden back porch
contain so much water.