Before Vietnam
Oct.27, 1966
……
Late that Thursday afternoon,
leaves having fallen from the surrounding trees,
the two sit on a large, flat rock
left from the receding glacier
10,000 years before.
He 15. She 14.
His right arm drapes across her shoulders.
He wants to be casual, confident;
yet, his right hand has gone numb.
She finally turns her head left,
waits, doe-eyed.
A cool breeze from behind them.
Both shiver.
She leans into him,
perhaps hoping to counter the chill,
her warm breath on his right cheek,
asks, “Well . . .”
……..
Geo. Staley is retired from teaching writing and literature at Portland Community College. He also had taught in New England, Appalachia, and on the Rosebud Sioux Indian Reservation. His poetry has appeared in Freshwater, Main Street Rag, Clackamas Literary Review, Naugatuck River Review, Willow Review, Trajectory, Green Hills Literary Lantern, Evening Street Review, Paddock Review, Slab, Book of Matches, Slipstream, Change Seven, and others.
The Paddock Review 