That Old Telephone Pole on Crescent Street

There was an old telephone pole on Crescent Street, across from the Times Gazette.

It's not there anymore, a newer stick of pine has since taken its place.

I used to walk by it on my way to school, and marvel at its ugliness.

Its cracks and gnarls gave it a sinister look, aided by the streaks of tar that had failed to protect it.

My wise uncle once told me, “That telephone pole is the most learned member of the street”.

“It listens to the conversations in the wires it carries, and each rusted staple holds a message for the world.”

He laughed when I cried- the day a bolt of lightning cleaved the pole in two.

He told me it was a good sign, that God had decided the pole had learned everything it needed to know.

He must have been right, because a year later it was my uncle that God took.

Now all these years later, I look up at a young, yellow pole,

I think of my uncle, and I chuckle- Boy does this pole have a lot to learn.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/8jxsxz/in_oregon/?st=JHAN8CR1&sh=e550083b

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