The waitress paused in believable eye-contact
and fixed the hood of my sweatshirt;
asked if I was staying in town
or just passing through—I confirmed
the latter with some regret.
What these mountains need
is to have a silly-faced man
pose in front of them
with his mother
and be captured
in a digital image—
in doing this
I count myself
a steward of
all creation.
The sun shot from the hip
turning the Middle Fork
of the Flathead River
into a shimmering white ribbon.
The trees overhanging
were disco balls.
My mom sat in the passenger seat
tending to a half-dozen blisters
and noticing swollen ankles.
After reflection
she promised
to come back.
The sign reads:
Glacier
Wilderness
Resort
Hot-Tub
Indoor Pool
HD TV
Wilderness.
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