For Dick Backus

The round dry cell, as heavy as a brick,

sat on the edge of a window sill.  A wire

was attached by a brass screw in the

center of the battery. The wire ran outside

to two, spring loaded, flat tin plates

on a bird feeder. When squirrels jumped on

they got a shock – and jumped off.  Coming

for seed, birds were not heavy enough

to trip the connection and feel the current.

In the driveway was a wooden car someone

had made for a kid that ran on an old lead

car battery.  It was almost dead and the car

barely moved when I saw it.

In the pines was a small tree house with a B-17

Plexiglas gunner’s dome in its roof.  When I

poked my head up into it, I heard Anne, Dick’s

blond, somewhat older sister blow notes on

a trumpet, not quite a tune, but more, as

warning call for things I now think we didn’t

then understand.

FG    5/9/2016

Dick, a boyhood/high school friend, recently driving up Summer Street in Goffstown was shocked to see his family’s house had disappeared.  I wasn’t in the house much but frankly I am shocked that it has gone missing, too.