Hometown

Your hometown is there like a holy land.
When you’re living far away, you always
know which in which direction it lies.
You want to aim yourself like a laser
toward its white water tower and feel
it like its looking back from its flat
plot a land that’s still a little wild in its yards.

When you meet someone from your hometown,
someone you never met when you lived there,
you both know you need to break bread.
You’ll go to work late for it. You’ll miss the bus.
If you can tell you don’t like each other,
you still remember the Plaza Café together,
a shibboleth. Somehow, you owe each other something.