Wednesday, April 21, 2010

856. JUST NOW

JUST NOW
The brass band was playing
Old Man River down by the riverside -
a swatch of old guys beneath a shoreline
gazebo hung with bunting and flags. The
sort of down-home town square scene
one could find in a poster book of the
joyous American way. Marshall Flaghorn
came sauntering on - to introduce the act
between tunes. But no one is listening.
A few kids run off, a few pigeons fly in.
The slight breeze rustles in over the water,
making ripples along the surface run.
-
As I crested the hill, I noticed the soot
of some down-home squire. Nothing
very special, mind you, just another
riverfront guy - some concrete bust
of Napoleon on the rolling front lawn,
or one of those Gallic others running loose.
It's all made for a simple sauce - river
water running to mud, and the old canal
yet standing by. Those few turtles on
that sunny log? They seem to know
nothing about anything at all.

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