Chucky Parker

It was about the time

that Chucky Parker dove off

the Glen Lake dam, hit his head on

a submerged rock, and drowned

that a black ribbon of tar appeared

running catty corner behind the bench

and flagpole on the town common.

Before that black ribbon appeared,

there was just a dirt path through

the mown grass that muddied up

and was generally an eyesore.

But it was a short cut that made sense,

so it got tarred.

I knew none of the Parkers well,  

the kids were all younger than me.

Chucky was probably ten or so

when he died and I have no idea if

my time line fits, but I remember how

smooth that black ribbon was to ride on.

I remember, too, that right behind the

flag pole, in the black ribbon’s middle,

was an odd shaped dip that I always

tried to hit at speed.

FG 4/1/2014

The coupling and uncoupling of memory, the knotting and unknotting of writing a sermon as Corny might say in my novel Rivers and Prayers, is something akin to a life force itself – but it is not to be trusted.

If I have erred with Chucky or the Parkers, perhaps someone from this site can correct me or add more information about the Parkers.