The Ecstasy of Gold II

Arrival from Heathrow Airport, England
—Atlantic City International Airport,  
New Jersey, 1974, 03:00 Hours
 
The brown station wagon  
bulleted southward
becoming a très grande vitesse
through sleeping suberbs and cities
 
Comets of street-lights  
illuminated dirty windows
where I pretended to sleep  
cradled in an incubator of glass—
a rusted, oil-leaking nest
 
There's no lullaby  
like rubbered-asphalt  
between dark routes  
of small, uknown towns
cigarettes glowing  
between parental talons
 
Dictators, kidnappers of youth  
from motherland and friends
The rustle of refreshment bags. . .  
pepsi and egg-salad sandwiches
curled from their front seat  
 
Somewhere in the concrete tundra
of this god forsaken land
thrust upon me like a beehive
hairdo for school photographs
was something resembling a past  
 
Hours later, another day
broke the horizon of monotony;
the bullet slowed, turned
into a parking lot of familiarity—
 
S  T U  C  K  Y  S
King George, Virgina, 07:00 hours
 
where did I know this from. . .  
 
Its aisles were bright and welcoming
from a post-adolescence crisis. . .
souveniers, somewhat seedy bathrooms
typical diner food: pancakes, eggs, orange juice
 
Getting back into the car, my father winked
handed me a pecan nut log with creamed nougat!
Now that I remembered. . .
it was the first time I'd smiled  
in weeks of boxes and goodbyes  
 
Listen...I heard this once  
and it's as close as it gets
to the truth:  
 
When feeling lost  
and unable to belong;  
when too young to run
or nowhere to go. . .
certain places and food  
will always bring you home
~