Taking the stairs brief reading by John Stiles

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Some notes on a tent trailer

 Some notes on a tent trailer
by John Stiles

In the barn with the sun slanting through

bailer twine hanging down, like a noose,

nits, flies and moths fluttering, broken egg

shells, yolks on the ground like pancake,

puddles with oil, pin pricks of a  rainbow. 

The smell of cow manure, a white dog called

‘ghost’ nipping at the wheels of a big boat car.

Late to come with the mail, all the post in a bag

in the side door, taking all the routes, chugging

down a backwoods road.

Dad in a technicolour windbreaker

Three kids belted in back of a car, looking out

wondering if the tent trailer is hooked on the

back and the clasp and chain link is attached?

The mother in front turning around and asking

if all are fastened in and hoping the homemade

leg is tucked up inside the tent trailer and screwed in

not dropping onto the road, clanking down a highway,

as if a hammer might land as if dropped from a height?

Wondering if you left it there on a tenting site, thinking

it might be possible to drive back and have a look

It was always raining when you left the valley, when

you were down on the south shore it seemed so different,

bakeries, bait stores, with Mepps Black Fury and three prong

jig hooks,  you really did wonder how did people live

down there?