The City With a Smile

The City with a Smile


On highway 64 between Helena and Jonesboro,
a giant cross forced on the sprawl
of hills dotted with churches
and fast-food eateries; gas stations

and strip malls slowly succumb to vacancy
and horizon. Ranch-style houses splinter
in all directions. Trash and car washes.
Train cars rust

in the shimmering heat, waiting
for the freight to come back,
their tracks more wall than line.
Teenagers cruise from the bowling alley
to Sonic

and back, park by Wal-Mart to neck
or drive out to Big Eddie Bridge
to smoke pot and complain while lightning
bugs dance in the trees. There is

high-school football and judging others.
There is Jonesboro, Memphis, Little Rock,
if you can drive. Summer fairs
and satellite TV. Further out,

there are rice fields, a handful
of dwindling factories with their bags
already packed for Korea. Wynne,
this sleepover town near enough
but not Memphis,

founded on the spot where a train derailed.
We thought we were tough because we spent
one dry-eyed year in the run-down
Junior High across the tracks

before moving to the new one in the middle
of town. We were wiser than Solomon
in our packs, more concerned with
the price of each others’ shoes

than the usage, already learning to
turn up our noses at the secrecies
of the heart. We were killing time
until graduation or sixteen and
old enough to drop out without losing

our licenses. Vo-Tech meant half days
today, but Honors meant a future.
Teachers whispered to the few of us
who’d listen: study hard and you can go
to college and never come back.



C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Subtle Tea