“Canadian side of Niagara Falls”

I rode around the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.
I was seven years old in the middle backseat;
Seventy two pounds of rice and of meat.
All the black broke apart by October mist
in tiny fragments of Technicolor stars.
Frail Pink,
Negligee Green,
Pumice Blue,
and Coral Gold.
My eyes are half shut—
as they were
watching the lights sink beneath Buffalo.
The truck cab stank of sweat and gasoline,
half eaten paper bag of French Fries—
and Vaseline.
The Canadian Side of Niagra Falls—
watching the colors that America once owned.

narrative poem written on 03-06-2010 by: on mattkane.com
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