1 am in Morgantown

The genesis of this poem is interesting. I was talking to a friend of mine the other day and the Blood Sweat & Tears song "Lisa, Listen to Me" came to mind, and I shared the song with her. She liked it very much. But later, as I was thinking, I was reminded of a different track on the album "BS&T4" (that included that song). The piece I started thinking of was an instrumental bit called "A Look to My Heart" that local radio station WCLG in Morgantown used to play as their sign-off music at 1 am.

Every time I think of that song, I am 15 years old again, my portable radio has just faded to static, and I am in my room, the night both guard and nemesis, surrounding me as I contemplate a future that looks nothing like the world I have grown into.

1 am in Morgantown

It's 1 am in Morgantown
and the music has faded into the night.
The skies are grey with the clouds bearing rain
that tastes sour, feeding fog that smells like
the 4th of July.

I can hear the train in the distance
going from somewhere to somewhere,
but leaving me behind to wonder where somewhere is
and why I never seem to be on that train as I wait,
wait for something.

Everywhere is somewhere.
Everything is something. Everyday is, well, everyday
as the roads keep doing their jobs, taking people
to where they want to go, even as they forget their dreams.
Dreams are something else.

It's 1 am in Morgantown
and the music has faded into the night.
The skies are grey with the clouds bearing rain
that tastes sour, feeding fog that smells like
the 4th of July.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.