something they call home For a few hours, white snow fell before nightfall; then rain came and washed it all away. The lone streetlight on this dead end street, the one that often makes the poems, makes me think of Weldon Kees and his porchlight coming on. My neighbor, a miserable man who never waves, whose name I will never know, called the electric company about the streetlight’s stutter, about its blinking off and on, from dusk to dawn. They came and fixed it when I was at work, when I wasn’t around. And now, it’s just a well-lit beacon, birthing brightness upon this street, guiding lost souls, wet from rain, towards something they call home. Tohm Bakelas is a social worker in a psychiatric hospital. He was born in New Jersey, resides there, and will die there. His poems have been printed widely in journals, zines, and online publications all over the world. He has authored twenty-five chapbooks and several collections of poetry, including Cleaning the Gutte
Like the title says.