Thursday, April 1, 2010



…We walk the snakey mound left from the

Old in”urban track

On summer nights.

The humid stillness

Broken by wrap-around winds..stirring

Dust devils

In the mounded leaves

tossed carelessly aside by our little march.

…to Winnwood..

The carnival of our universe

The roar of skaters pounds against the shouts

Of night swimmers..

And the clank of miniature cars

rounding their small track.

Under the stars dancers dance..

striped with jukebox rainbows

Until show showtime.

Tom Mix and Hop Along Cassidy

teach us their violent morality

and all those families

on quilts and blankets spread

upon the dusty grass...

babies asleep in Coaster wagons

or on their mothers’ arms..

Fruit jars of cold tea and jelly sandwiches

The smell of popcorn and warm lake water

lapping at the boardwalk

Was heady stuff..

At Winnwood…

In 1943

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