April 27: At Eight Years, Walking Distance

http://www.shorpy.com/node/10338
http://www.shorpy.com/search/node/walkerville

At Eight Years, Walking Distance

We used to walk toward the smell,
thick in the air, like thieves. The whiskey
drenched the tracks, the town, and lit the air.
I tilted my head looking, and my friends
and I snickered over who would lead
the way under the bridge, as we
weren't allowed to travel over it.
We didn't know what was inside; the racks
and racks of what our fathers
and grandfathers craved. Quenched
of any need for it ourselves, the tracks
like a one way street, pointed to
where we were not supposed to be,
not supposed to act,
and the smell welcomed us home.

Blogger's not letting me upload the picture. Oh well. Click away if you like.