Here, old men never quit talking,
and the young ones try to make something of themselves,
testing their limits with time. Some community college “freaks” with
no debt and no cars exhaust their mouths with stories of their earlier lives.
Here, in my Evansville, the lights are a warm yellow shade
that sweeps over every car top and head of hair in the evening and dawn
as some sleep and some eat. Here, in my Evansville,
we have backyard bonfires on summer nights
in the middle of June. In this town, the people
run over the same potholes and pray they will be fixed,
but we all know this is stupid. In this town,
weather will be mistaken for one and become another.
In Evansville, we wish for the instrument of togetherness and receive nothing
but distaste.
In my Evansville, you can smile and wave
like in your Evansville, but not on its fighting leg to survival like yours,
against evil itself, striving to be something better, because
this town knows that it can.
Here, in my Evansville, the weekend is nice,
filled with vendors and booths of fresh fruit on the streets, and
music dances through halls and crowded bricks,
the people all sing, the birds all sing.
Here, in my Evansville, everyone is okay,
they are all kind, they are all lively,
they are all caring. No hate.
No shootings on the Southside.
More connectedness for the weak.
In my Evansville, good people and good food.
Good nights, good days.
Good moments for each person, of every doubting kind.
A Personalized Version of the Original
“My California”