1976
I remember
rusty drawbridges
and
windshield rain
in old ashtray trucks
john wayne uncle liking me
and talking of the army days
we motored loudly
over flooded farm tressels
and green rivers
ghost shacks on the shore
held dogs that slept
on splintered wood
porches
dry and cold
and people
inside
not knowing of me
ancient and dying
tugboats burdened
with a thousand stories
were finished and still
always there
tired
as they witnessed my
five year-old eyes
and soul
passing over
and growing
older
until it
was
all
gone