23 King Street (a draft)

This is the only poem I've posted so far that I don't consider anywhere NEAR done...so feel free to post feedback! :-) - Amy

At 23 King Street

My father’s spaghetti sauce
wafted through the house --
I run to him,
to get some on a saltine.
The jungle picture on the pantry door,
The birds and flowers I filled with a rainbow of colors.

I remember putting the piano cover down,
my father called out, “It hasn’t been an hour yet!”
Daddy coming through the door with pizza on Friday nights!
I savored sausage, with a grape soda.
I remember my dad talking about what a “God damned
shame it was, what we did to the Indians.”

My bedroom with rainbows on two walls,
the others had brightly colored plaid.
My art drawer stuffed with stories and pictures,
along with crayons and craypas.

Wheeling around with a broken leg
with a brand new kitty, that mom
brought home for me, perched on my lap.
Mom & Dad danced like nuts around the kitchen
how it made our schnauzer Christy prance around
click her toenails and bark like mad.

In July and August, I escaped
to my parents air-conditioned room
dark, cool, a respite
with a loud comforting hum.
I locked myself in my room every afternoon
and night after night. Instead of doing my homework
listened to Shaun Cassidy and The Monkees.
Dreamed of being other place and other people.
Mom thought I must be depressed
she and Daddy sent me to a shrink.
He decided he wanted to see them.

That painting of a tiger on the living room wall,
his eyes would follow me around.
I remember nighttime television with my Dad,
“M*A*S*H” and “Barney Miller”.
I remember watching the Red Sox from the porch
and losing all my marbles in the backyard.