On The Wonder Years, Wayne Punches Kevin Again
and calls him a butthead. My mom, walking through
with clean laundry, stops to sigh at the meanness
and what she knows of the show—siblings angry,
their father a grouch. Their neighbor Winnie
and Winnie’s dead brother, her parents dividing
their grief in divorce. My mom only tolerated
zany family trouble: a sulky teen turns into a dog,
a boy without parents befriends a chimp.
These were the movies we watched as kids,
though even Disney plots troubled my sister.
My mom reassured her with statements of fact:
you’ll never be an orphan, we’ll never own a dog.
Revitalization Project: 6.5 Miles of Track, Abandoned by Maine Central Railroad
The city paved a footpath
alongside the rails.
nice benches. At mile 3—
Views of the Kennebec.
Kids with scooters and bikes.
Every so often
This is where
we built boats.
Here is where
we made cloth.
keeps the trail in repair.
The state still maintains
so the trains can return
whenever they want.
his striped cap in greeting.
Boxcar graffitied neon:
Blue skies ahead!
Girl on roller skates
racing the locomotive.
Abbie Kiefer’s work is forthcoming or has appeared in Bodega, Booth, The Cortland Review, december, The Penn Review, The Spoon River Poetry Review, and elsewhere. She lives in New Hampshire. Find her online at abbiekieferpoet.com.