Tea Garden, IN

by Ralkkai

hand-crafted driveway
poured from rented truck
and smoothed out with rusty old man
and the black gravel and tar seperate
the driveway and the “road”.
Trains come and go
with horns like hell
smashing the sky and waking the night
with megaphone yells like
methadone dreams when brain turns to sour cream,
spoiled and moldy in microwave.
It starts here with the puffs of pot
and the swigs of beer
and I become me in this neighborhood
where the whores of photo-massacism are made
and the best companions teach you
how to strum a guitar
and you find out that bass is so much more
than just 4 strings and copy cat schemes.
Summers come and go
and come again and
sometimes there are snowy winters
and sometimes pills and little tiny crystals
that make you regret and then forget
later–
but what else is there?
you lost your virginity there
and got your heart broken twice.
You had a plce to crash
when your mother kicked you out
for talking back.
The place was hardly a town,
listed as a village by the documents.
Had 2 churches
a quilt shop
and an abandoned asylum
that no one dares to go near.
Freshly painted urban legends came from
that place.
Philosophies in cars and on front steps
came from there.
Smoked jerkey and Hell’s Angel Handshakes
came from there.
In some ways it was there
that I became a man.

Advertisements