Playing the Indian Card

Monday, October 26, 2015

Once Kingston in a Fog of Time

Something I wrote way back when I was an undergrad at Queen's University, Kingston, Canada, living in what was then Elrond College. My daughter calls Kingston "the abandoned grey city of ghosts."

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. North America, and all the ships at sea."

--Walter Winchell

The church bells toll like waves of sleep,
First sound in the smoky dawn;
The newsboys weave their way upstreet;
The greystone day goes on.

The radio plays a scratchy tune
So soft--and like a sigh it's gone;
Reflections in a coffee spoon,
The limestone days wind on and on,
The greystone day goes on.

And as the sleep falls from my eyes,
The dreams drop from my soul.
I jam and butter newborn lies,
And find a cigarette to roll.

And as the smoke rolls heavenward,
It orchestrates a ceiling song:
The newborn days die on and on;
The greystone day goes on.

-- Stephen K. Roney

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