Entrance
Entrance
by William Greenway
It’s one of those days you wait for
all summer as if all your life.
Cool air has come blowing all day,
flickering tired green leaves.
You’re so happy you could cry,
and do, don’t even care
if the drugstore’s out of pills
because your brother’s found work,
a building crew, wood butchers who
could use some part-time help,
like his smile, and care less
if he never drives a nail.
So to the park, where,
remember, wind is springwater, quenching
the skin, blowing like a fall
you walk around in with the one
you loved most,
though everybody ever is there,
walking your way.
And the question is,
do you love them all, equally?
Sorry. Begin again.
It’s one of those days you wait for
all summer as if all your life.
Fine dissection of a psyche. Uplifted on the first two lines to come down on the last two, in between is a person too dependent on others: “pills,” “brother,” “the one you loved most,” “everybody ever,” this particular summer day. The individual who feels “wind is springwater” can’t find happiness in just himself. Well-done.