Disoriented

Down
in the basement is a pole,
an iron pole that holds
this half of the house up.

I hooked my elbow
around this pole and began to spin.

The music from "Break Away"
drifted down the stairs
and I closed my eyes--

I don't know how old I was.
But I remember the poles on the playground.
Each spring they'd be painted silver
and flake
in my blistered palms.

When I opened my eyes,
the basement walls were unfamiliar
and quite a stand-still sort of shock.