So long ago, I couldn’t describe one
other than a book with pulpy pages
where I could gather signatures
of the famous or important, but as close
as I got to famed was my uncle
Bill, with wavy hair, who lived in Milwaukee.
My grandfather might have shooed me away
when I asked, and my grandmother, hardly
notable unless it was for her rag rugs
or apricot glads or climbing roses,
was too busy for such silliness.
Still, I had a book that I brought out
when I remembered it, maybe when I went
to the village theater to see bad beach
party flicks or Pat Boone swoonies.
Could Pat drop by in the flesh or Annette
as Dee Dee in her prim two-piece? Sadly,
I knew no one more famous than Shorty,
the grocer or Les, the butcher, or Fang
who owned the root beer stand and Bob,
the tan and extra-dreamy life guard at the lake.
© by Karla Huston.
Used with the author’s permission.