AT THE ANTIQUE MALL
At the antique mall, a reclaimed schoolhouse
Abandoned not all that long ago:
In the restroom graffiti remain intact,
Unkind words and pictures about someone’s daughter,
Like a fresco in the villa of the Vettii,
Released from Pompeian ash
By archeology’s delicate hammer,
For the perusal of unintended viewers.
At the antique mall, a sense of trespass amid the clutter:
Someone’s forebears in daguerreotype,
Private notes on postcards, monogrammed gravy ladles.
Dealers in jogging suits move wares from shelf to shelf:
Which of them has dealt with a niece
Whose grief was less than she had planned,
Which of them a receiver of stolen goods?
On the closed circuit monitor
Graying floorwalkers lurk with genial suspicion
Scanning long tables of memories accepted on consignment.
© 2010 Robert Demaree
Originally appeared in Wild Violet Spring
GENERATIONS: SEA ISLAND, GEORGIA, MAY 1999
A seaside wedding in Georgia,
The last of a generation:
Soft, gauzy May light; tulips, impatiens.
At Ocean Pines Plantation
Young men park cars, as their fathers had done,
Serve canapés to the bridesmaids, all over 30,
And their stepfathers, temples and canes tinged with silver.
Five cousins of the bride, now family elders,
Think to have a picture taken. Who knows?
Young men, ten years out of college,
Earnest, handsome like their fathers,
Discuss the market in black tie.
The band plays “Brown-Eyed Girl.”
© 2010 Robert Demaree
Originally appeared in Mobius.
