Nyack 1968
We went to visit
my mother’s cousin Bonnie
and her husband Ned.
They took us out
on their boat.
Even let Dad
take the wheel.
Ned told us that
the country was fucked,
that most people were lazy,
that he wanted to move north,
but couldn’t get a transfer
to the Syracuse office.
And how the hell
could we stay in the city
filled with animals
who should all be shot?
My dad kept nodding,
downing Buds,
as the sky darkened,
like it was painted by Cole.
As Bonnie was putting out
the roast beef,
I heard her whisper,
I want to leave him,
but I’m afraid he’ll murder me.
When my father asked
for another beer,
Ned snarled,
You’re an embarrassment
to your wife and son.
I’d like to punch your face in.
It was dark by the time
we started home.
My dad was sprawled
in the back.
Me, in the death seat.
Ned’s right, mom murmured to herself,
her eyes locked onto to the
endless white line.
I just hope he
doesn’t hurt Bonnie.
As drops started to
fleck the windshield,
she hit the blinkers,
and began to turn.
John Attanas is a student in the MFA program at City College. He has recently returned to writing poetry after a long absence writing plays and novels. He currently teaches English at Nassau Community College.
The Marbled Sigh 