Escape | saltwindspoet

Escape

Paused at the top of the fire escape
which fronted the Milner Hotel
my mother caught her breath
edged onto the grid. My brother and I
followed, all of us clinging together as we tried
to evade the desk clerk, the month-old bill.

The smell of popcorn from the popcorn factory
filled Carver Street. I thought of the Publix Theater
the all-day show for under a half dollar
the worlds revealed
in panoramic, Technicolor splendor.

Old men hanging outside the ladies room
did not discourage me.

Mother stood watch.
Sophia Loren swam the Aegean
walked the Acropolis
lived in a windmill on sunny Mykonos.

John Wayne flew a Flying Tiger.
Stewart Granger searched for king Solomon’s mines.
Roy Rogers and Dale Evans rode the plains.
Lauren Bacall taught Bogey how to whistle…

We stood at the edge of the fire escape
inched forward, felt the spring mechanism relax
the grid slowly sink downward

hands tensed on the rails we waited
for it to settle on the sidewalk
where we dismounted
hurried away.

We did not dream of sailing the Mediterranean,
of salvaging a solid gold boy on a dolphin

did not imagine ourselves courageous
owned no horses.

It was the shadows that beckoned
the back alley stairs to some fine, brick townhouse
on Commonwealth Avenue or Beacon Street
a place to huddle until dawn
until the Waldorf Cafeteria opened.

There were no demons lurking in the night
only cops who might usher us to their car
take us to the Berkeley Street station
commit us to the poorhouse at Charden Street

where worlds were reduced to grainy black & white images
on a small Philco television
which could never encompass the grandeur
of the Acropolis.

I barely acknowledged the institutional green walls
the stark barracks, the sticky oatmeal
wadded like a wet towel in my bowl...

I dove into the Aegean, swam deep
touched the golden boy.