BOB DAVIS ART


 

Out West

 

Remember that time, that place where we stopped, that trip

that we took? I couldn’t see where we were going then, but now

here it is again – here we are again. We’ve arrived back

at the same village, the same restaurant

covered in the smells of freshly baked cinnamon rolls,

slathered in frosting, overcooked a bit at the edges, burnt even.

The walls are tilting in a little more now, the faces

are cragged a little more deeply, and the icicles

no longer hang down along the roof edge.

 

 

The car idles gently while we forget what we came in here for,

bathed in the memories. The T-shirts are now blue, the hats green;

the dolls are trinkets made in China. But the cinnamon rolls

will do for now, and the screen door slams shut.

The ceramic trolls are lined up on the fence outside, guarding the lawn.

Are they not also under the bridge we passed, guarding the town

from the river flow? driving away the bad omens? The Dark Ages

are long past and the faeries no long scare us.

 

 

We get back in the car and back on the highway and back onto the road

home; the road we choose to take this summer day as the sun rises

towards noon. The twists and turns in the road slow us down as we descend

further into the valley, heading west.