[John Whitworth]

Why You Can’t Go Home Again

There were apples you shouldn’t have bitten,
attacks you should never have written,
friends it was wiser to flee,
punishments one can foresee,
neighborhoods wholly destroyed,
people you need to avoid.

There are journalists wanting a quote,
morals you failed to promote,
merchandise wholly unneeded,
questions you shouldn’t have ceded,
toxins your chimney emitted,
neighbors who want you committed.

There’s your sister in fantasyland,
barricades lately unmanned,
enemies fitter and thinner,
husbands still waiting for dinner,
floods from mysterious torrents,
cops who are waiting with warrants.

If you ever went home, you’d be nuts—
they’d make sausages out of your guts.

Terese Coe