THAT MEMORY WAS
UNDER THE POST
The morning was crinkled like some old
wrapping paper, and I tore what was left
of nothing open. Ribbons went flying. The
first thing that popped out was a grand, blue
sky - the kind someone's old grandfather
used to have. The Civil War vets marching
to the bandshell in half-formation, lame and
shaky now. No one spoke. A bunch of horns
blared - all those old military tunes recalled.
Five women were sitting there, in bonnets,
fanning themselves with paper fans. They
were crying. I knew not why but I had a
hunch. Times are now and times are harsh,
and sometimes times are trying...