NaPoWriMo 4-9-2017

The Boy Scout fountain along the tracks
In Park Ridge still bubbles away
Each spring.

And that half a tobacco shop across from it
Might still offer up
Delicious cigars to the young
And uninitiated.

And the moon, in October,
Still holds its orbit, somehow
Over Lake Bluff cemeteries,

And the green glow of FM
And tape deck spilling REM and Stone Roses
Into the murk.

Soon comes young Halloween;
Thanksgiving.

And old Christmas.
Easter, near new shores
Gone quickly familiar, and thin.

Spinning, and spinning, and spinning,

Glimpses
Of the old Boy Scout fountain
Along the tracks
In Park Ridge
Going long, and gold, and skinny, like fire.