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.