30 means freedom! But freedom from poetry ... is that really a good thing?

This will be my last "poem a day" entry for April. It's sort of bittersweet. On the one hand, I'll be happy to leave this self-imposed challenge aside for a while. On the other hand, writing a poem a day does pique my creativity and my zest for spring. In other words, this "chore" brings on a personal rebirth of sorts. Not sure if I should let that settle down again.

My prompt for the day will be: http://poetryprompts.tumblr.com/post/142634525032/national-poetry-month-prompt (Write a love poem to your hometown.)

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Love Poem for Pittsburgh

Dear steel city, Burgh of black soot
and rotten air, milltown of ethnic neighborhoods,
Appalachian twang, and borderline Midwest
politesse, thank you for taking me in

when I was three, for introducing me
to Elmer Street and ginkgo trees and
Mr. Rogers (my television friend),
for Liberty Elementary and Falk School,

for EJ across the street with his Big Wheel
(first fiancee) and for The Catman
with his marmalade beast
on a long stalking leash.

Thank you for cracked sidewalks, for
potholes and Negley Hill, for sledding in
Mellon Park on snow days, and for the slush
that froze our jeans as we schlepped home

in a bunch, all the neighborhood kids,
dragging the toboggan.  Thank you for
Carnegie Mellon, where I learned
to be a writer and started my journey,

for Shadyside and Squirrel Hill and Oakland,
for Dave and Andy's ice cream, for your
global smorgasbord and greasy spoons,
for three green rivers and fireworks

on the Point, for art festivals
and brick houses and Mom's apartment
on Wightman -- her sanctuary.
I didn't love you in middle school

(in fact I probably hated you). It seemed
you were callous, that you wanted us
to break our adolescent hearts against
each other, and I was happy to leave you

for Mexico, but distance must make
the heart grow fonder, and so I returned
and learned to love you again
as helped me come of age.

Dear Pittsburgh, I wish you all
the best, though we'll never be together
again. Keep Mom safe. Hold my memories
in place. I'll lie, then, and call you

"home," and say I loved you best.