Relocated Kernville
is a big toy box spilled
across virgin land.
Nail pounding, saws roaring,
skeleton 2 x 4 framing
rising on concrete footings.
Raw streets, raw dirt,
white-shirted men
direct denim clad men
doing the lifting and shifting
of siding and soil. Henry
and Ruthie crawl through
the new town that’s emerging,
at fifteen miles an hour.
They gawk at the ant-like
construction. The men
looking back are startled
to see her brown face
ride with his white one
in a dog-snouted,
lakester Ford coupe.
Some elbows nudge ribs,
some hands scratch heads,
some comments get passed.
Speculation that livens up
lunch talk between bites
of ham and cheese sandwiches
gobbled at noon while
sprawled in the scant shade
of tractors and trucks.
The two-flavored couple
leave the sawdust and
exhaust-scented scene,
follow the road up the river
to a place he has in mind,
a spot private, quiet, pristine.
They coast to a stop
where a cluster
of sycamores
shelter and shade
a turnout off the shoulder
of Kern Canyon Road.
There’s pool down below
where they can cool their feet,
freed from the confinement
of work shoes and socks.
They’ll sit on a wide slab of rock
and wiggle their toes
at the hovering trout
in the welcoming stream.
Steal a moment to dream......
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