The First
On our street, one bulb
burned at every house –
the brightest ours, as if
Father’s thumb pressed
a wire into greater service
A kiss from a boy
a foreign country
witnessed by neighbors
peering past drapes
in the slow hour of night
A porch a theater
for command performance –
precise disorder of lips
and tongues, an altered realm
on four feet of concrete
– t. l. cummings
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TLC'S VIRTUAL EXPRESS: A Train of Poetry Visits this Station 
Wonderful memories. Beautifully written, thank you for sharing
😘☺
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Thank you. Such a good memory 🙂
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Loved your memories of the porch! Super!
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Thank you!
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You’ve conjured a great sense of time and place in capturing this memory.
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