The summer of '92

Day11: "write a poem about a very large thing. It could be a mountain or a blue whale or a skyscraper or a planet or the various contenders for the honor of being the Biggest Ball of Twine."

That summer, even the grandeur of El Capitan
Could not lure you from where you sat
Sulking together in the back of the hire car
After the long journey across the desert.  

The trip of a life time - San Francisco to LA
Down the tucks and turns of the Pacific highway - 
Revealed weird tufa shapes on frothy beaches, 
Wild trees on rocky cliffs; all nature passed you by. 

You loved the man-made: the switchback tram rides, 
The Aquarium at Monterey, Universal Studios, 
Disneyland, The American Hard Rock Cafe, 
Each motel's all-you-can-eat doughnut and muffin breakfast.

You loaded up on soda and chips at gas stations,
Turned your headphones up way too loud,
And sat in teenage mutiny throughout
All the long drives in between. 

So we left you in the car, with warnings not to wander, 
Walked together to the viewpoint to stand breath-robbed 
By the massive slab of granite, its vertical strata looking newly formed,
Its sheer face washed by a cascading rush of white water. 

Years later, looking at albums of that holiday
It's not the mountain you remember
You flick past those pages, still blind to the grandeur,
To find the ones of us laughing on the themepark rides. 


© Copyright 2022 Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved .

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