April 24 - Two Weeks From Everywhere

The town where I grew up was small. How small?

I could walk the town all the way across and back

In the space of an idyllic sunny afternoon

Along some random sun-dappled, leafy track.

They were all like that, the roads and streets and trails,
Tucked among the gnarled oaks and chinaberry trees;

Drenched with pungent crape myrtle perfume,

And the sounds of dogs and kids and humming bees.

It was a town that taught you patience patiently.

If you needed something not on hand, they'd get it,

But you could count on waiting 14 days in any case.

Two weeks, a fortnight you could safely bet it

No matter what it was; no matter how large or small

Time warped itself always into equal spaces.

You learned to live with it or else you moved,

Somewhere rushed, more nervous, wired to faster paces.  

I carry some of that little town with me now,

Especially as I grow old, my powers wane, and my career peaks.

And when some nervous youngster demands to know how long?
My answer now's always the same – about two weeks!

© 2016 by Tom King