Stages of Decay

Today, as the old truck
rattles around the hair pin curve
on Rabbit Hill,
blue paint gleams
like a proud possession
on the one fender still intact,
The other three flap precariously
in various stages of death by rust,
while Sue Hart's old coon dog
bays mournfully at the rattling cough
from the aging engine,
then chases his tail
rather than make the long trek
to the stand of hickory trees
to chase a raccoon
that might chase back.
As Sue Hart's father
cuts Mr. Miller's hair,
snipping carefully around the giant mole
on the center of his head,
and Sue Hart sits in her 1950s kitchen
sipping ovaltine
from a cracked blue willow cup,
We sit on worn upholstery
at 'Grounds for Thought',
sipping fresh brewed hazelnut
and looking everywhere
except into each other's eyes.