I’ve been thinking a lot about Cincinnati lately, recalling the first glimpse…
Give us a phone number, something
we can fold and pocket and take along.
We’re like laboratory mice who
have been whirled in a windsock
in some equilibrium experiment.
Back out on the floor their compasses
are drunk, they stagger right, left,
then fall into a heap of themselves.
Locals are no help:Drive a ways down
this road then not far past the bait shop
turn left where the church used to been.
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