VII. Spinning Out

VI. South of Cesar Chavez

**

It started on Salado,
a few blocks past The Drag:
a girl from Alvarado,
a zipped-up duffel bag,

Things sold and sent to storage,
a mattress left unmade,
an Uber for the bus stop
down waiting in the shade.

It started in West Campus.
There, the thread was tugged.
It started in West Campus:
a power strip, unplugged.

They went to Cain & Abel’s
after the last test.
Six beers, two quesadillas,
they forgot about the rest.

One final ride to Dirty,
one final stumble coming home,
one final dead man’s slumber,
one final morning groan.

It started in West Campus:
unraveled bits of shirt.
It started in West Campus:
one final late-night hurt.

Then, the parents came, descending,
come for those not bussed or planed.
But handles needed finishing
and dumpsters needed futon frames.

And then you saw them, at P. Terry’s,
grabbing food before the drive,
half-in, half-out, and was he gone?
And would she Facetime after five?

It started in West Campus:
a swirling, churning sea.
It splashed across the city.
It still can be a college town.

And then the high schools started ending,
eighth grade went to cake and pool.
Dads who spend their summer elsewhere
wrapped up meetings, called kids’ coaches.

And then some moms found time to breathe,
while neighbors rushed and wrangled cats,
while off Leon eight still-there frat guys
downed a case, set fire to trash.

It started in West Campus,
but graduation’s big and loud,
and earthquakes rumble far from fault lines—
earthquakes rumble, big and noisy.

It started with a thread, tugged.
It started with a duffel bag.
It started with some twisted screws.
Now, the whole damn town is loose.

**

VIII. They’re Gone

Editor. Occasional blogger. Seen on Twitter, often in bursts: @StuartNMcGrath
Posts created 393

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