Sullivan County redux

September 6, 2014 § Leave a comment

should I worry
about how
road kill reminds
me of a long walk
to Neversink,
around the time
September threatened
us with
Thanksgiving and
all the ice
that was sure
to follow

elaborately constructed darlings
with stories of
the Island
or Harlem
willing to grant my
hand worthy
for an afternoon

you would think I
would find the
accents of
their laughter intriguing
enough so
at least
to stop
counting all of the
raccoons and
squirrels that
didn’t make it across
route 55, much less

all the way to the reservoir
and back before nightfall
like we were
on a whim, because
they had never been
away from the city before
and they were as
foreign to me
as the Catskills
were to them

seeing a fox by the side
of the road today,
it’s tail curled
around its head as if
it was catching a few
winks in the gravel,
that trek
back to me

not the voices or
faces or style
of my companions
mind you,
but the number of
fallen wild brethren

which, by the way,
was fourteen,
(this I remember)

upon seeing fox
in this particular condition
I said aloud
“well, that’s one”, and
drove on

I have
a ways
to drive

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead


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