Issue 61, Spring 1975
He is no one I really know.
The sun-charred, gaunt young man
By the highway’s edge in Kansas
Thirty-odd years ago.
On a tourist-cabin veranda
Two middle-aged women sat;
One, in a white dress, fat.
With a rattling glass in her hand.
Called “Son, don’t you feel the heat?
Get up here into the shade.”
Like a good boy, I obeyed.
And was given a crate for a seat