Driving by My Childhood Home by Erin Murphy

Driving by My Childhood Home

Erma Lane, like Erma Bombeck
I still find myself saying

as if anyone remembers her
or my mother who sat barefoot

on the back deck, Salem Menthol
in one hand, a dog-eared copy

of Fear of Flying in the other.
Brown ranch house of the neighbor

who said she went to college
to earn her MRS degree. Yard where

our Blizzard of ’76 snowwoman
wielded an ERA NOW! sign.

Front stoop where my father
described his new girlfriend

to my mother: She’s a lot
like you but with bigger boobs.

The other sign, bright yellow
with black letters: DEAD END.

by Erin Murphy

Editor’s Note: Irony and nostalgia come together in this vivid poem where memory is both sharp and realistic.


3 responses to “Driving by My Childhood Home by Erin Murphy”

  1. Michelle W Meyer Avatar
    Michelle W Meyer

    Funny, not funny. I love the imagery. Gorgeous piece.

  2. danakinsey4gmailcom Avatar

    I love this poem with its subtle humor. Each detail so carefully chosen, building to that startling revelation.

  3. Antonia Clark Avatar
    Antonia Clark

    Wow, that’s a great poem. Wonderful details and every couplet a story. I’m scared to death to drive by my childhood home. . . .

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