The Buick: Section Four

The next morning, wiping milk off his lips,

At yet another gasoline station,

Johnny listened to Fred on the payphone

Outside the rest room window, saying something 

About a broken deal in St. Louis. 

He heard Fred curse, words typical of Jack

Back home, which already seemed long ago.

He lingered in the foul lavatory,

Waiting to hear Fred step clear from the booth

To make his way back to the stupid car.

He didn't know why he hesitated,

But it made him feel more invisible.

Climbing into the back of the Buick,

He saw his mother sporting a new purse

And his grandmother her patented smirk,

"My savings go toward that pocketbook?"

"Hush, Mama, it's nothing," Babette pouted,

"Fred bought it earlier before we rose,

Little something to get my spirits up."

Johnny pretended to read his war book,

Conscious of the Century's fierce conflicts.

"Hey," his mother interrupted later,

"Wasn't Dillinger jailed in Pendleton?

Don't you think he looked like Jack, Mama?"

His grandmother was not known to hold back:

"Their last names should both be changed to trouble."

But Johnny didn't care about John D.,

As that was somebody else's legend.

Only later did Johnny realize

He'd missed some important development:

Grammy was fuming, his mother humming,

Fred looking at a map flat on his lap.

"We'll stop in Terre Haute," he determined,

But no one seemed to listen or to care.

"Babette, I'll make a call or two from there."

"I wouldn't want to go to St. Louis,

Freddie dear, us knowing nobody there."

"We are not going to know anybody

Anywhere, darling daughter," Constance barked.

Johnny went pale; Fred snapped his fingers,

Bearing down with his eyes in the mirror.

"Enough, everyone. It will all be fine.

Men like me got contacts in any town.

We'll find our place to settle soon enough."

Sighing, Johnny cast his eyes down again,

No interest in Midway photographs.

He wanted to ask about future school,

But knew that discussion would not go well.

He'd survived so long with private tutors

Staring intently over his shoulders

While squeezing between humidifiers

That unknown schools couldn't disrupt the plans

Of the Buick's two star-crossed lovers.

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