garfield ridge story in Book of Visions

I was three years old
when I first went to
school - that’s what
my mother called it -

a storefront on archer
avenue equipped with cots
and donated toys, an
old black & white television,
and a menagerie of
imposing, steel playground
equipment in the fenced-in
parking lot behind the building

the operation was run
by a middle-aged couple
who cruised
the early-morning
pickup route in a
rusted, raucous, white
station wagon, cramming
clients into the back, indian-
style, backs against the window,
sleep still on their faces,
staring at one another, slack-jawed,
resigned to another day

I don’t remember a definitive
beginning or end to this experience

there are stories, though

they come when I am not
conjuring them, and when I try,
I cannot be sure they are true