Divertimento
I remember going to Thompson’s Camp with John and Frank.
It was kind of a rustic resort/restaurant/bar on Spruce Lake
where people went for a decent meal and a night out
and maybe a bit of mufky-fufky in the cars outside
or in the surrounding brushy landscape. Regulars sat at the bar
while the tourists filled every table in the place. Boaters
out on the lake looked as if they were having a ball, and were
the focus of most everyone’s eyes that weren’t looking
at a lover across a table. I remember that there was pickled
herring on the salad bar where I heaped my plate to the edges.
I remember thinking about a certain face and frame I couldn’t
get out of my poor brain no matter how long it had been. I
remember afternoon turning into sundown, into dusk, and then
profound darkness, and the huge moon glittering on the water.
.
Folding Underwear at the Kitchen Table
I wonder if you would say, if asked,
that you have any fond memories of us.
Us together, I mean. Our two bodies.
I heard, after we were over, that you’d
been having quickie hookups all along,
and some of the hookups were with people
we both knew. I wonder how many times
that might have happened. I wonder,
if asked now, would I say the hurt had been
brutal, a pelted-with-nails kind of hurt,
or just the result of pursuing life to the hilt?
© James Kangas
James Kangas is a retired librarian living in Flint, Michigan. His work has appeared in Atlanta Review, Faultline, New York Quarterly, Penn Review, West Branch, et al. His chapbook, Breath of Eden (Sibling Rivalry Press), was published in 2019.
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