9717. I'M WALKING IN GREEN TRAY

I'M WALKING IN GREEN TRAY

The tall guy says that's how they translated

the name of the town back some 200 hundred

years ago, and it stuck. It was maybe supposed

to be Tresverde, which is perhaps 'very green'

in the French, but some Huegenots moved in

and soon enough it was just Green Tray.

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Funny name, but it works. No worse than

Horseville or Mud Bottom. There's not

much here anyway  -  an old Moose Lodge, 

and a car shop that, it says, fixes anything.

Careful with that one these days.

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Outside the old church lot there's nothing but

paths. A few rutted tire tracks where the grass

doesn't grow, and some gravel, but from 40

year ago. Now it's all pressed in and mostly

gone. Everything only leaves a trace. Like

that cemetery which just takes up space.

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Before long, when they all die out, this place

will be lock, stock, and barrel closed up. For

now, a few Indians try running a convenience

stop connected to a rickety gas station with

two tattoo'd kids farting around outside. The

fat girl comes over with her new baby boy,

still swaddled in last week's birthing blanket.