Small Town

Small Town

by Justin Hamm


In the park across the street
from the YMCA
a mousy girl in loud sneakers
stands atop a picnic table
and honks the saints go marching in
on a shiny brass tuba
teetering back and forth
from the weight of the thing
and the mailman breaks
his daylong delivery march
wipes the sweat from his forehead
with a red hankie
and listens.

Inside, the counter lady asks
after the health of my baby daughter
uses her first and middle names
and on the TV above the treadmill
there’s a low-budget commercial
for the mechanic up the street
and it reminds me I need to stop in
and pay him for this last oil change
which he insisted on performing anyway
even though I’d forgotten
my wallet that day.

Later I hear Mellencamp
spilling out of somebody’s car window
trying desperately to convince us
he was born in a small town
and he’s gonna die in a small town
and I want to believe him
but I figure he’s got be fibbing
if that’s all he can think to say.


-refers from the phrase “your horn” Watching Arturo Sandoval on PBS at 2 A.M.  by Jonathon K Rice.