Something They Call Home

For a few hours, white snow
fell before nightfall; then rain
came and washed it all away.
The lone streetlight on this
dead end street, the one that
often makes the poems, makes
me think of Weldon Kees and
his porchlight coming on. My
neighbor, a miserable man who
never waves, whose name I will
never know, called the electric
company about the streetlight’s
stutter, about its blinking off
and on, from dusk to dawn.
They came and fixed it when I
was at work, when I wasn’t around.
And now, it’s just a well-lit beacon,
birthing brightness upon this street,
guiding lost souls, wet from rain,
towards something they call home.

Tohm Bakelas is a social worker in a psychiatric hospital. He was born in New Jersey, resides there, and will die there. His poems have been printed widely in journals, zines, and online publications all over the world.  He is the author of twenty-four chapbooks and several collections of poetry, including Cleaning The Gutters of Hell (Zeitgeist PressPress, 2023).  He is the editor of Between Shadows Press.