Mountain House

Mountain House by Ron Tobey

You wear chaste tennis whites
modest skirt hemmed at your knees
front-buttoned short sleeved blousy shirt
white socks and canvas shoes
for the clay court
unusual attire for a date
we sit on a double wicker chair
on the Golf Shop porch
next to the Coca Cola dispenser.
At the record hop for teen guests of the Waumbek
you slow dance with me
a golf course employee
keeping greens
press tight as a lady’s deer-skin leather golfing glove.
Eighteen, reddish brunette hair cut above your shoulders,
skin blossoming rose after the day’s trials,
40-love
point
set
match
the model for the Coca Cola ad campaign
on the back cover of Life magazine
1963.
When you kiss you relax
your tongue gently traces the outline of my lips
in your mouth I glimpse life’s distance
moonlight reflects off the Presidential peaks
snow furtively glows above the tree line
Reverend Tuckerman’s glacial ravine
skiers in July race slalom flags and rocks
hay
mowed meadows
grass hills
roll out of Jefferson Intervale
the Waumbek golf course
pours liquid in the evening over the near landscape
dew settles on the whipped bentgrass
moles in silence hollow out their dark worlds
at whisker length beneath
ancestors in the cemetery call me
from coffins in granitic ground
near the 1913 Episcopal stone church
a cool Sunday morning you pray
bow your head
as now to rest upon my neck.
You are the girl I cannot see
falling for me
twist my life in poetry
I hear you fondle my rhymes
recite my lines in whisper
magically in my ancestors’ lyrical Irish brogue
play the Mountain House tennis circuit
two weeks here more contests
Balsams, Mount Washington, Mountain View
you hold my hand until your mother drives you away
from the portico where porters load your luggage
your blue-black tote of stringed tennis racquets in your car trunk.

Let go
you reappear

alarms clog the gutters
worry taps the window
death coughs at the door

in dilapidated memory
I am not free.

<strong>Ron Tobey</strong>
Ron Tobey

Ron Tobey lives in West Virginia, where he and his wife raise cattle and keep goats and horses. He is an imagist poet, grounding experiences and moods in concrete descriptives, including haiku, storytelling, and recorded poetry, and in filmic interpretation. He occasionally uses the pseudonym, Turin Shroudedindoubt, for literary and artistic work.

He has published in several dozen digital and print literary magazines, including Truly U Review,  Prometheus DreamingBroadkill ReviewCabinet of HeedAtticus Review, and The Light Ekphrastic. His video poetry may be viewed at vimeo.com/userturin, recorded poems at soundcloud.com/turin-s.

Twitter: @Turin54024117

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