When two church schools
hit Kings Dominion
on a sunny Virginia Spring day,
we rode the rides, screaming,
ate gooyuy cotton candy,
hockey puck burgers,
took in a James Taylor concert
at the grand band stand.
Happily leading my students into
that fine, soft, acoustic, drawling
string of a singers show,
I bumped into fellow teachers
from the other school
blocking their students
from entering!
“What? Why? This guy’s a
mellow voice of wisdom in a
numbing mix of screams and drums!
Join them! Don’t stop them!”
No.
They would not budge, but
stone faced my entering,
their memories recording
every step I took.

Listening to James Taylor sing,
I felt my cement seat slowly
turn to squeezed sand sifting out
beneath me.
It was only a little moment
in the churchy stream of things,
but, I knew, it was only a
matter of time.