from White River Junction
But I believe only in the tousled willow tree,
the lamp plugged into a loose outlet,
this galaxy of dandelions.
I say desire is a fire along the highway.
I say desire is a snowed-in house.
We are grains of sand and an agate is as rare
as an unbroken sand dollar.
I should know. I've been combing the beach for years.
Even the room is an advertisement.
"Earn Free Nights." Free of what?
This is how White River Junction got its name:
not because it is the junction of two rivers,
but because it was a junction of railroads.
Now it's a junction of interstates.
Some towns never change.
Now it is a town where the boys get in fistfights
over prom dates.
Now it is a town where the hospital is the biggest employer.
Now it is a town owned by absentee landlords.
Now it is the mouth of the Ottauquechee River.
Now you realize, so are you.
You who never change.
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