Thursday, March 20, 2014

Say cheese



Senior Trip, 1949

Tempting to leave it behind, the boxy
Brownie Target 16 sitting forlorn
on the scarred bureau in a Baily’s Crossroads
hotel room, relief map of green linoleum

cracking wise to the drowsy transom  
yawning in the morning heat, yearning
for a cross breeze, window open on
Truman’s second term, brick on the flop

house across the way close enough to touch,
diesel oozing up to the fourth floor
like icing in a layer cake tipped
onto its side, bus idling in the alley

waiting to ferry the class of ’49 across
the river, the way paved by cherry blossom.
Time enough, back over the Blue Ridge, through
Bristol, to quilt a throw of conviction, a colorful

serape for your father, posing draped and aged  
at the bus stop while you fumble the clunky
box from a Knoxville Woolworths, betrayed by
such a confusing array of apertures. 









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