Henry hasn’t seen tents like these since Korea,
lights blazing out the doors
and speckling the pinholes in the tops
like constellations in a canvas sky.
Never expected to see a M.A.S.H. unit
in downtown Bakersfield.
But he’d never expected to see
Al Jolson singing Swanee in Korea, either.
Hundreds of moths dust the screens
with their powdery wings trying to get to the lights.
Brain fever-infected mosquitos slip in undetected.
He parks down the street, away from the tents.
Stands on the sidewalk, peers at the doors,
trying to spot the sweet-faced little sprite
he met the night before.
He sees her peek through the gap in the tent.
With the big-eyed smile he already adores.
He waves, zeroes in on the girl.
She backs up inside, pokes her hands
through the flaps, waves a warning -stay back.
Peeks again to see if he’s coming,
her hands pleading no, heart saying yes.
Someone else has seen them however,
the morality enforcer, Mrs Weber
with her police issue flashlight and clipboard.
She stares the girl back into the tent,
marches up to the eager young clerk.
What on earth do you think
you are doing here, young man?
This is a restricted area. Staff and patients only.
I know why you’re here and I’m warning you,
I’ll have you arrested if you don’t leave immediately.
Stick to your own people –like I told her.
Any other contact is indecent. Go.
Henry starts to speak, then sees the fury
in her hard blue eyes and knows
it’s useless to argue his intentions.
Which are are just as she suspects,
but he doesn’t feel like trying to deny it.
He walks back to his car, looks back once more,
the nurse is still watching to be sure he leaves.
There’s a guy leaning on his coupe like he owns it.
-Something I can help you with?
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