A sign
I'd already kicked up the customary dust
which announced the departure from main road bitumen
when it hit me. I'd known precisely where to turn.
The sign was back! Or a brand spanker installed.
I didn't even pull over. Just puttered on, slow smile unpeeling
as the bolt upright pole and firm, white, shiny metal plaque retreated
in my rear view mirror. My rear view mirror,
My pea-green, last-century Corolla, My road, returned.
I am actual again.
Designated.
Located.
Emplaced.
So why does it still not feel right?
The taking away tilted something
which hasn't fully righted.
For a while there, I was etherised.
It's not such a simple matter.
Being raised from the ranks of the unnamed.
Bill Wootton
2 August, 2012
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