Paul David Adkins

I Lived in Melrose Park, a Sundown Town

We didn’t kill anyone;

we had cops for that. We had

a sheriff’s helicopter with a spotlight

probing dark streets like a doctor’s finger.

We knew

who lived there,

and who didn’t.

We had telephones

with the police number

taped to the receiver.

The cord was extra long

to peer out any window.

Our guns were tucked in closets.

Our dogs went nuts

barking at midnight walkers.

We thought these people were casing homes.

God help the kid from Sistrunk who sold magazines door-to-door after dinner,

or the Liberty City man

whose Ford Arrow broke down on Iroquois and Jackson.

He couldn’t call a tow truck,

couldn’t call the law,

couldn’t call a friend

to pick him up.

He just sat in blackness,

listened to the Dobermans,

saw the porchlights snap

one by one,

the dark curtains part,

their drawstrings barely touched,

and swinging.

Paul David Adkins lives in Northern NY. He served in the US Army from 1991-2013. Recently, he earned a MA in Writing and The Oral Tradition from The Graduate Institute, Bethany, CT. He spends his days either counseling soldiers or teaching college students in a NY state correctional facility.