The Smuggs Chronicle 2013, Part 1
Haibun Poetry
First Day: August 18, 2013
The traffic slows to a crawl north of the Woodbury toll. We never hit traffic heading upstate before. After a half-hour, a silver jeep with a crushed driver’s side comes into view. It’s on the embankment, off the shoulder, going nowhere. Someone’s trip has come to an end.
flashing lights
we processing rubberneckers
pay our respects
A stop at the Glens Falls rest area for lunch. Frankie and I read the sign while Mira races to the restroom. We finally pull ourselves away to visit the men’s room. Reuniting by a picnic table near the car, I take the first bite of Mira’s steak sandwich — prepared from leftovers from last night’s dinner
succulent meat
Frankie tries to snatch
my chips
The wind feels so cool. Frankie laughs and stares toward the approaching shore on Grand Island. The waves crash against the ferry’s bow. Spray rains down on the deck behind the warning rope.
“I don’t know what I was worried about,” he says.
wind-filled sails
sunfish and sailing cruisers
pilot Lake Champlain
We pass the Smuggs sign. No one cheers. We drive into the West Hills. The pool looks closed: a blue tarp covers it. We learn at check-in that someone broke a glass bottle in the water.
Later, we meet Larry and Erika Goodman at the Smuggs Social. Frankie and their son David run together, then apart, then together. Did he take longer to smile at the social than last year?
soaked grass he stands holding a red water balloon
read Pre-Smuggs Insomnia, the Prequel
more by FRANK J. TASSONE
photograph by Jake Campbell
