“PAST 45th.”

When I think of Seattle,
I see myself walking long,
alone down 46th street,
holding my breath beneath Aurora;
Trodding my way to the stretch
on 45th.
A six foot tall stick of Bacon waves
from Archie McPhees.
I don't stop.
Ice cream people line up outside Molly Moons.
I don't stop.
*I want to, but I won't.
Past Chocolati and my favorite cinnamon truffle.
Past Trophy and my favorite brown and blue plastic tablecloths.
Past Fainting Goat and my favorite translucent spoons.
Past Kuan Yin Teahouse and my favorite bald monk
with the fireplace channel crackling on his iPad.
Past the past and all that has passed, I don't stop.
I am unstoppable, I think, but for one thing; DICKS.
When I think of Seattle, I think of stopping for DICKS; always.
DICKS, going down 45th.
One Deluxe and a side of fries and I was ready to keep going.
Unstoppable, I thought. Unstoppable, but for DICKS.

narrative poem written on 09-25-2014 by: on mattkane.com
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