the green mountains grace the horizon
where we have a summer place one of
the range resembles a gently curving
breast complete with nipple whenever
driving into the small town nearby we’d
exit the woods and the skyline would
come into full view I’d always say “there’s
bubby mountain” the kids offended would
groan complain roll their eyes upbraid me
one trip we came to the crucial moment
and I was silent after a mile or so the kids
in almost accusatory unison chorused
“WELL?” I said “well what?” “well when
are you going to say it?” “say what?”
“BUBBY MOUNTAIN!” they all shouted
This article appears in May 18-24, 2017.
