A poem by Woodrow Hightower

With all the strength I had
I threw a boomerang and it never came back
I was a young boy at the time
And the throwing stick had been a Christmas present from my father
Impatiently, I kicked at the dirt and waited

Days passed and I went in search of the missing gift
A tuba player said that he had seen the stick
Pass over an earthworm farm
Then terrorize a group of seniors playing croquet

A man at a trading post swore he had seen it
Cruising I-40 with the Sons of Thunder
A motorcycle gang famous for speaking in tongues
And throwing wild dinner parties

When my father died unexpectedly
One of the mourners at his funeral
Claimed to have watched my boomerang
Buzz a rodeo clown
Then drop rosary beads across a small savannah

As an adult I took on the role of undertaker
Working for a pet cemetery serving distraught poodle owners
And though very busy most of the time
I never forgot the boomerang
Sifting the clouds telescopically
Faithfully believing in a second coming

Now sliding into middle age
A most incredible thing happened to me
I received email from my boomerang
Apologizing for having gone missing
Telling me it was couch-surfing
In a gated community for frequent fliers
But planning finally to be home for the holidays

Tomorrow is Christmas
Tonight I’ll dream the usual:
Of chiseled stone and an ethereal past
Collecting forbidden novelties
And solving unsolvable crimes

Then I’ll wake in the morning
And put on my robe and slippers
Walking the long hall
That leads to a flocked tree in the living room
Where I’ll be reunited with the nomadic toy
Whose name still calls up innocence
And the soothing drone of my father’s voice

Woodrow Hightower is a native of West Point, California. He is a poet currently producing a first book of verse to be titled “So Low.”  A self-described “word muralist, with a weakness for cheap cigars and baseball,” his work has recently been accepted by a multitude of literary zines including IthacaLit, Olentangy Review and The American Aesthetic. Hightower resides in Sacramento’s Midtown District with photographer Twyla Wyoming and their two Tibetan spaniels.

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