I’d talk to the girl with auburn hair
next to the mirrored barroom wall:
what made me leave, what kept her there,
eyes of green, skin so fair,
queen of every high school ball.
I’d talk to the girl with auburn hair,
remember how, with one slow stare,
she got the boys to come and call.
I had to leave, and she stayed there
to marry young, each day aware
of the always-watchful eyes of all.
She was “the girl with auburn hair,”
and I was not. I took the spare
leftover names—the smart one, small—
and left: no one could keep me there.
But still I sit in a vacant chair
next to the mirrored barroom wall.
The green-eyed girl, the auburn hair—
what we believed would keep us there.
"Hometown Bars—If I Went Back" by Midge Goldberg from Flume Ride. © David Robert Books, 2006. Reprinted with permission.
