Dinner Stop

We used to stop here when I was a kid:
Shorty's Burgers, Fries and Shakes, a
Quick drive from the Cascades' eastern
Slopes toward the sagebrush-covered hills
Which run until the Rockies rise. The
Food, as I remember it, was not that good,
The burgers fried, a slice of that ungodly
Tasteless stuff the fast food joints call cheese,
And ketchup, mustard, nothing else, inside
A soggy bun. The fries were frozen, okay
Hot. The milkshakes, I believe, were fine,
The joy of stopping being not the meals,
But our anticipation. We were on our
Way up to the meadow where we used
To camp, to spend the weekend in
The woods, to wander trails, to squat beside
The creek and build dams out of rocks,
To ride down to the river where we'd loll
Beneath a searing sun until we gained
The courage to go swimming in its frigid
Waters. Those days passed with blessed
Slowness until Sunday afternoon, when
We would make the long drive back
To soggy-lawned suburbia, a trip in which
It seemed nobody had a lot to say.
Shorty's shut down years ago. Its windows
All are broken and its paint is faded.
Wind blows dust across its gravel
Parking lot. My dad, who drove us
Here is dead. My brother's in New Zealand,
And my sister's home's outside of Boston,
Even I live far away. I may go up into
The meadow in the morning just to look
Around. I don't intend to stay. I won't
Go with anticipation. So much now
Is gone.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 115 times
Written on 2017-06-15 at 01:00

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