Jeanine DeNitto

In 1972 when Oriana was laughing at Jesus in a song
She heard on a radio, set on a glass table top under trees,
Her man shook his head. Nothing like that holds sway here
She said. She turned the dial, and pipes wailed from the tinny
Sounding machine until the batteries lost all their juice and died.
The sound soaked into the bricks and sometimes,
If you walk a certain path you can still hear it
Beneath the train whistle, that high lonesome sound
And the whir of car tires on the highway.

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About the author:

Jeanine DeNitto lives in South Brunswick NJ, where she is involved in cat rescue. She enjoys writing, gardening, and making artwork, especially collage and altered books.