It's Still Life

A Few Thoughts That Aren’t About Gators

We’re on the Challenger Memorial Highway.
I saw the Challenger explode mid-air. On telly.

Somethings just stick to you. I’ve a lifetime
of things stuck to me like yellow Post-Its.

Cold War. Kennedy. King. Moon landing. 911. COVID.

And we drive north toward Daytona Beach.
The road sign reads Welcome to Mims.

This is Deep South family. Deep roots.
Grandpa and his brothers founded this town.

That house over there, the blue one
with yellow window frames is where

he was born, back when Mims
was on the edge of nowhereness.

Trains took on water here.
There’s a tree in front of the house.

It’s gnarled and snarling, breathing
through Spanish moss full of chiggers.

The streets are empty except for me doing heel-to-toe
on the straight yellow centre line of Main Street.

I’ve always wanted to walk down the centre of a road,
like I owned it. Today, I walked with ghosts.

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Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2023.