Forty-Five Miles
The past is a verb.
- Ben Shattuck, Six Walks
Go right on Ashmont, left at The Great Lost Bear
and over the tracks, past where Dick’s VW had loaner engines.
Down behind was the little theater where Dave showed up to our show
greasy and late after helping his first baby girl get out.
Just out of town, you pass the little road on the left,
where I roared YES to the therapist’s calm observation You seem overwhelmed.
Soon after the giant walking TV repairman and the hubcap covered garage
whose owner had the BYOB funeral at Beech Ridge Speedway,
you’ll see the Big Apple Citgo where I dropped the yellow oil cap
into the engine and the old guy with bad knees wearing a Trump trucker hat,
dropped to the ground, crawled under the car, found it, topped the oil, and hugged me.
In Casco, bear left to the Migis Lodge
where Julie’s disastrous marriage started beautifully
or bear right to Northern Pines
where Jolene & Tom’s rock-solid one started out cold and wet.
Next cross the Naples causeway where a kid shot a kid last 4th of July,
go past the bar in Harrison where Marlene Dietrich used to sing on the juke box
next to the store that carried white chocolate covered peanut butter cups and sardine Italians.
In ten minutes, you’re at Bear Pond where I opened my eyes
under water and looked into the eyes of a snapping turtle,
then drive down into the flats where I read Sherlock Holmes all summer
and disaster survival books all winter. At the library next door
I found a copy of Ulysses in the mythology section,
fell asleep reading by the lake and woke up covered with goslings.
The road curves by the old hotel where we played
cards while Nixon resigned.
If it’s hot, swim in the lake.
If it’s not, walk up through the woods to the lookout.
Look out. Then drive back.
