Teeter-totter
Throughout the long Illinois winter
…………my father and Reverend Krause
…………………….built their first boat in the basement
of the Parrish house.
…………As they worked they joked with one another—
…………………….maybe they could get the boat out when finished,
maybe not—maybe it would float, maybe not.
…………On a fine June morning they launched Maybe
…………………….from the boat ramp at the Sportsman’s Club,
and they were happily fishing
…………somewhere out on Lake Vermilion. Mother
…………………….and I were left to amuse ourselves on the playground
for a couple of hours. She told me to get
…………on the teeter-totter, lowered her end a little,
…………………….hiked up her flowered dress, and swung her leg
over. She came down so fast and hard
…………that I nearly fell. As I went down I cried, Don’t
…………………….bump me like that. The second bump was more
fierce than the first, and again I complained.
…………The third bump caused me to pitch forward.
…………………….I split my lip on the handle bar and fell
flat on my back. I got up, glared at her, and said,
…………You stupid bitch. Then I ran away into the woods
…………………….and down the hill, weaving through the trees,
until I came to the edge of the lake. I sat on the bank
…………and began the wait for my father. It was a long time
…………………….before I heard him calling me. I called back to him,
and he found me easily. He sat down beside me on a rock,
…………put his arm around my shoulder, and said, Are you alright?
…………………….Then he cupped my face in his rough palms and examined
my lip. He dipped his handkerchief in the lake
…………and washed the blood from my lips and chin.
…………………….That will heal in couple of days, he said, Nobody
will even know you were hurt. I was about to speak
…………up, but he continued—Your mother told me you
…………………….had an accident, that you lost your grip on the teeter-totter
and fell. It was then I understood the silent contract—
…………she would not tell him I called her a vulgar name,
…………………….and, in return, I would not reveal what had actually
happened. We stood up together and began the climb
…………back up through the trees side by side.
…………………….When we arrived at the playground, my mother
was swinging high on the swing set. She smiled
…………at us. On the upward arc her dress billowed
…………………….up into her lap revealing her ivory legs and thighs.
Reunion
On a whim
…………I mailed my book
…………………….of poems
to my high school
…………girlfriend in Wisconsin
…………………….(whom I had not
seen or heard
…………from for 60 years).
…………………….She responded—
I made tea
…………and read your book
…………………….in my favorite
chair by a window
…………looking out over
…………………….Lake Geneva.
Oh my!
…………Who would have
…………………….thought the young
boy I held
…………in my arms
…………………….(as we sat
parked in his
…………battered old Ford
…………………….beneath moonlight
at the edge
…………of the cemetery)
…………………….would end up
running so deep.
The Last Picture Show
1
My father asked me
…………to help him lock up the theatre
…………………….after the last show of the evening.
As he stood at the door
…………saying goodnight to each patron
…………………….as they left, calling many of them
by name, I sat in the glass
…………ticket booth closing out the register.
…………………….I watched the people spill out
onto the sidewalk as I counted money.
…………One of the last to emerge
…………………….was Andrew, a church acquaintance.
I knew they had buried
…………his older brother that afternoon
…………………….in the rain—a rain that persisted
now even into the night.
…………He stood under the canopy,
…………………….turned up the collar of his overcoat,
and lit up a Pall Mall,
…………and beneath lights and neon
…………………….he smoked and gazed out through
the rain across Vermilion Street
…………to where his stripped-down-souped-up
…………………….49 bullet-nosed Ford was parked.
It was glazed in rain and its many coats
…………of deep maroon lacquer gleamed
…………………….in the flashing lights of the marquee.
After a while he tossed the butt
…………into the gutter, cinched the belt of his coat,
…………………….ran across the street, and jumped into
his car. It roared to life, and he pulled
…………out slowly. At the green light he turned
…………………….north onto the Dixie Highway to Chicago.
It was so beautiful to hear—
…………as it faded into the night—
…………………….the sweet gurgle of his Hollywood mufflers.
2
I must admit that seeing Andrew—
…………on the eve of his brother’s funeral—
…………………….coming out of a Martin and Lewis comedy—
seemed peculiar and strangely inappropriate.
…………But now I am an old man looking back
…………………….and must confess that—as for me—
whenever the light of reality shone
…………too bright—I, too, always retreated
…………………….to the sanctuary of the darkened
movie theatre where magical images
…………flickering on the screen proclaimed
…………………….life’s improbable possibilities.
© Gary Blankenburg
Septuagenarian Gary Blankenburg is a retired English teacher whose doctoral dissertation treated the confessional poets: Berryman, Lowell, Snodgrass, Plath, and Sexton. Blankenburg is the author of eight books of poetry and fiction. His most recent book, “Above All Things,” was published in 2015 by Brick House Books. He was also a founding editor of “The Maryland Poetry Review.” Blankenburg lives in Sparks, Maryland with his wife, Jo, where he reads, writes, and paints while gathering himself up for a meeting with The Great Perhaps.
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