The Buick (Section 2)

Sometime later, as dawn bid good morning

Through the Buick's elliptical windshield,

The boy awoke from a troubled slumber,

And muttered to anyone who'd listen,

"Why did we travel back to Washington?"

"This is a different Washington, hon,"

His mother snickered from the front seat,

"It is Washington, Pennsylvania."

His driver established eye contact

With the child via the rear view mirror,

"Don't worry, boy, this ain't nothing like home.

You'll see so when I stop to get some gas."

And soon a Texaco appeared ahead.

As the attendant, smile and trusty rag,

Stepped up to service the car, the man,

Whose slick black hair the boy had been staring

At since leaving home, ran to the phone booth

By the cigarette machine, change ready.

"Who's he calling, mama?" the boy queried.

"Don't fret, son, he's taking care of business,

Let's go inside and find something to read."

In the station, looking for distraction,

He glanced at something with the name Gazette,

Saw a headline about Roe's cracked skull,

And thought of Jackson Wilkinson, the man

Who took him to Senator baseball games.

But his mother grabbed the splashier Life,

Saying, "Now this is something we can share."

He knew better than to request something 

With a story about baseball in it,

A connection to the man his mother

Desperately wanted him to forget.

With a Lincoln Memorial cover,

He figured he could lose himself in this.

He wandered back to the Black Century

As the driver slammed the phone angrily;

He knew better than to say anything. 

As they set out again down Route 40,

Seeing the signs for somewhere called Wheeling,

He snatched Life from beside his grandma

And started rifling through the pages,

Glad to be looking at something else than

His well-thumbed Winslow's Famous Planes and

Famous Flights. Suddenly the magazine

Was wrenched from his hands by his grandmother:

"Babette, did you not look at what you bought?"

His mama scarcely moved a muscle

In looking back.

                       "What's the faux pas, Mama?"

"There's an article in here entitled

'Marital Hazards Beset U.S. Domestic Life'

(I cannot even begin to scan that!).

Did you really want Johnny to see this?"

"Why wouldn't I, Mama," Babette bit back

From the comfort of her passenger seat,

"Divorce is finally o.k. these days."

Suddenly Johnny pictured the red face,

Neck muscles taut, spittle flying from mouth

Of the man everyone just called Jack.

"Here," offering the offensive sheet back. 

"I think I'd rather try and sleep again."

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