a poem by David Shumate.

Passing Through a Small Town

 

Here the highways cross. One heads north. One heads east

and west. On the corner of the square adjacent to the

courthouse a bronze plaque marks the place where two Civil

War generals faced one another and the weaker surrendered.

A few pedestrians pass. A beauty parlor sign blinks. As I turn

to head west, I become the schoolteacher living above the

barber shop. Polishing my shoes each evening. Gazing at the

square below. In time I befriend the waitress at the cafe and

she winks as she pours my coffee. Soon people begin to

talk. And for good reason. I become so distracted I teach my

students that Cleopatra lost her head during the French

Revolution and that Leonardo perfected the railroad at the

height of the Renaissance. One day her former lover returns

from the army and creates a scene at the school. That evening

she confesses she cannot decide between us. But still we spend

one last night together. By the time I pass the grain elevators

on the edge of town I am myself again. The deep scars of love

already beginning to heal.

__________

Passing Through a Small Town by DAVID SHUMATE, from High Water Mark, University of Pittsburgh Press, 2004.