When a small town turns lively, say,
with a car wreck, with a murder, with a gaping wound
we look around:
who’s not pumping gas, who’s not mowing,
preening, drinking? Who’s not slipping in
through the back door of the food pantry,
hungry and proud? Who’s not staring?
Who’s not chunking down opiates
like a blue horizon? Who’s not cheating
on their wives or taxes? Who’s not hanging on?
Who’s not slammed their curtains shut or
pulled their cans to the curb? Inevitably,
we convene at the grocery store
between the iced cream
and the transmutable meat,
to exchange glances,
confirm the unconfirmable,
unless, of course,
the absence is poor, anonymous
and somehow beyond remark.
Image: Dan Meyers on Unsplash
Indefinable, an indefinite article wrapped up in anatmospheric package with that lovely backwater ole’ country feel. Thrilling work as always, Devon. Sorry I’ve been absent for a long time – the covid effect at large probably. Hope you’re doing ok!
Hey Ray, great to heart from you. I am well and hope you are as well. The train traffic around here has been heavy of late. They always make me think of you.