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Swenson's Bluff (Blair's Bluff)

By John I. Blair

Today a friend of 50 years
Sent a photo I had never seen
Of me nineteen
Atop a hard-cap hill
Named Swensonís Bluff.

My clothes reveal
A certain lack of style:
A plastic raincoat,
Open so I do not sweat,
And long enough

To hang below my wrists
And drape beyond my knees;
A wrinkled, soggy-collared
Cotton shirt, dark chinos
Stretched across my paunch

(Twenty pounds of flab at least),
And stuck upon my feet
A shiny pair of rubbers,
Suitable for someone thrice my age.
On my nose beneath a not-so-flattop

Cling a pair of glasses
Held by an elastic strap.
But Iíve struck a steady pose:
My right legís propped, eyes
Peer out myopically,

My head tilts forward just a bit,
My jaw juts firm
As if Iíve glimpsed my future
On the Kansas plains below
And I am ready, not afraid,

(Though whether from a
Sudden inner light
Or simple failure
Of imagination
Iíve not decided, still).

©2007 John I. Blair


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