This is for you – you ancient of North East
frogtown
even an old five-and-dimer
has to
get away
maybe
cut across main street
head for the river
or a
backwater hideout
I pedal a stripped-down schwinn
by
battered wooden shanties
cluttered
along a dusty afternoon road
warm honeysuckle air
mingles
with guitar strum
fried
catfish and beer
under a slouch feathered hat
clayton
wamser
pimp
pusher preacher
leans
against a broken porch
smoking
a cigar
his snake head moving with shaded eyes
as I
pass his fat-breasted mulatto daughter
sunning
In her cut-offs
but the river always was my answer
where neon blue dragonflies circle
shoreline
stalks of milkweed
I
cast into still brown water
split sinkers pull the line under a twig bobber
my
thumb and forefinger
feeling the line for fish
waiting for yellow perch to strike or sunfish
I read
about flowers of evil
and
grapes of wrath
as the tide ebbs far from tomorrow’s flight decks
on yankee
station
in
the south china sea
"I believe this is written by an old acquaintance of mine from the
little town of North East as I am fairly certain that he served in
Vietnam as a pilot." - was what I wrote in the post of 'a darker shade of black' but this bit on 'frogtown' with reference to 'clayton' confirms it is the Charlie that I knew long ago. And whether Charlie knew or not I would like to point out that Clayton was a veteran from the navy of world war II and earned the hard way his right to just hang-out like a strange background character from a grade B movie.
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