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.
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.
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.
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.