324 Level Road for Rural Route #2
Addendum to title:
Boyhood digs
in Collegeville, Pennsylvania 19426
reduced to a fading recollection,
whereby mine late papa,
who passed away October 7th, 2020
shed blood, sweat and tears
keeping the sprawling mansion
originally a summer getaway
of the Leipers,
called “Glen Elm”
included hundred acre woodland
or there abouts, which sported
formal gardens, a pond
(locked haven for
migrating Canadian Geese)
back in the day, viz turn
of the twentieth century estate.
Oft times forced exposure therapy
spelled rustling quiet
pyrrhic punitive onslaughts
noisome moody linkedin kicks
jarring inxs harbored
grievances foo fighting essence
denoting cannibalized august boy
aghast to confront reality
returning home meant
gyrating, eulogizing, and compromising,
and beckoning autonomy
acceptable collateral
casting leftist strides rite
constituting timid steps
circumscribing childhood's end,
comprising reluctant trudge
trending toward adolescence
where wold wide webbed magic ride
rode roughshod o’er carped hooked
synthetic threads re: fibrous veld,
whence extolled impressive footprints
measured triangular wedges
rung hill re: duff feet
expediently dragged
churlish badinage afoot
stretching across Scottish tartan
Harris Tweed unwelcome matt
despite frustrated parents
whose vitriol unleashed tough-love,
smacked regularly quasi planned
spluttering threatened ultimatums
venomous viz witches
yawping against my brand
falling out of good graces,
though hatching escape merely fanned
actions hightail me to bedroom,
a secure foursquare space,
not exceptionally grand,
yet despite rapacious and relentless rage
against the sole son, who hand
did lee managed inciting wrath
of both me late papa and mama,
this parcel of land, now entombs nostalgia
namely 324 level road, Collegeville,
Pennsylvania, 19426 make believe
pal Joey and this creator
passively succumbed to withstand
invisible Jetblue lobbing
onslaught of slingshot barbs,
wharf fear to rely
on self way past primetime,
which solo endeavor didst demand
absent belief, confidence
and faith in innate survival skills,
hence countless admonitions recurred
razed quest qua pursed lips
those who begat their only male heir,
provoking predictable panned
da moan he hum in tandem
with concomitant wickedness akin to eland
caught in cross hairs getting pistol-whipped
with many barking explicit
derogatory gerund formed
expletives, that did not dislodge
this immobile body electric
defying logic, now in retrospect
clueless why I suffered to withstand
incessant verbal, venal,
and n’er vampire weakened blows
inexplicable, how this soulful, ruminating,
and tortured walking wounded
blithely weathered turpitude
though devoid of sense and sensibility,
how no man iz an island
though at times incontinent,
where jocund this bard fore e'er opened
Pandora’s box, but hindsight
softened cleft pride and prejudice
whereat bulldozed site of once
grand “Glen Elm” tears me up inside
fading memories refreshed,
via priceless gift
from beloved younger sister
(a book sporting bound
pages of photographs)
unwittingly mitigated hammer blows
of pain to confront the void,
whence away from obliterated
complex edifice grief felt damned,
torpedoed, and frankly zapped!