Durbin
On Gaudineer Knob, at the foot of
the fire tower,
We ate split-pea soup heated on
a Svea stove.
No way to climb the decommissioned
tower (stairs removed).
The pine woods were thick and mossy,
Cool as I shivered barefoot in cutoff
shorts,
Mocking the season without intent.
I'd been whistled at in Durbin, redneck
kids mocking the "hippie"
Who'd soaked his boots and jeans
tromping through swamp
At the Sinks of Gandy and preferred
"cold and dry"
To "cold and wet."
Twenty seven years past; I laugh
at my youth.
What else were they to think
Of some damn-fool long haired kid
dressed like mid-summer
In April-in-the-Mountains?
I remember the soup -- so hungry
it tasted good;
And the cold -- wondering who was
colder:
Frank and Jim in their swamp soaked
jeans,
Or me, shivering in the fifty-five
degree air.
11-13-99
