Geoffrey Leaves Home without his American Express Card
Geoffrey comes home from the war
only to find he must leave.
He looks at his home town through foreign eyes,
and everything seems wrong.
Even the trees, all evergreen.
His mother is too thin, and the soup too thick.
His father is too white, and the bread too soft.
His brother smells like football
and hamburgers from Hungry Harv's.
The family dog has become a caricature;
its bark frozen in a comic-strip balloon above its head.
The post office smells like the government,
and after four long years he doesn't need it.
The old men he sees on the street
salute him with toothless grins
and half an arm..
Those that can flutter their claw-like hands
like heavenly prayer flags.
Geoffrey knows he does not belong here anymore,
he will never again, fit in.
He mows his mother's artificial grass for the last time,
noticing how dandelions have captured
much of the lawn since his last visit.
Geoffrey always liked the dandelions,
but his mother didn't.
He watches a wren composing a nest in the lilac bush
and enjoys the creep of sweat tickling his spine.
"Lemonade" his mother calls from the porch,
and Geoffrey thinks perhaps he should stay
for a few more days.
He drinks slowly, savoring the tartness in his mouth,
and dreams.
He's reminded of Linn,
and how they would pass candy "sweetarts"
between their lips,
savoring their flowering passion.
Geoffrey wipes his brow, smiles, goes inside.
He notices the porch needs painting.
The living room is dark, cool, and familiar.
He looks at the couch
where he learned
the ins and outs of female anatomy.
He thinks of lifting the phone from its cradle
and calling his high school sweetheart,
her husband should be at work at Meeker's Mill.
In his mind Linn is still in high school.
He is still in highschool.
But Geoffrey speaks a different language now,
finds he has nothing to say except,
Arrivederci.
