Appalachian Heritage

body had to come, to take care ofJackie, know. She had to know what he had to to take care of him. Somebody had to know, for his tears—he was cryinghelp them both, to get them from here his tears would be her tears, too. Her to where they both had to go. Ray. No. dead friend was his friend, too. Their Not Ray. No clowning, no jokes, no being alone. It was time, time to call the post-game analysis. Nora. She would police and tell Nora. c^bé^D Two Poems by Parks Lanier IN THE WAITING ROOM The bronze serpents in ecstasy coupling Around the pharmacy's neon caduceus Are barely visible from where I sit; I see them dark against the gaudy light That advertises health at discount rates. This is the ritual ofsickness, the waiting. Considering the therapeutic value of old magazines, I know much reading will not make me well, But I persist in seeking relief, The creased and ragged journals charitably Offer recipes no one prepares, killing exercises, And marital advice like a farmer's almanac. My magazine is barely one year old, Its disasters already are forgotten, healed over; The victories trivial and boring—all this comes In medicinal retrospect. There are pictures Offamous people now six months buried; 63 Others, like me, are merely ill a week or two Or are pretending maladies, the surest way Ofbeing loved a little longer nonetheless. Thus we raise up brazen serpents in our wilderness, Guardians of the god Asclepius whom even Socrates Honored with his dying breath and tried to laugh. A true believer, I have learned the fatal syllogism; Therefore, I am mortal and regard the ancient ways. The snakes that lick the lights must hear my prayers. ?JmJmJmJmJ* THE KROGER APOCALYPSE In the bright cul de sac where dairy products take their ease, Where cheese, eggs, margarine, milk wait in cool comfort For resurrection, customers gather to make the weekly accounting, Without a list, ofDeath, Destruction, Desolation, and Disease. To reach my food I part their somber recitations, Interrupting for a moment thoughtful attitudes, poses Ofthose who know the price oflife on a changing market. I cannot guess what attracts them to this corner, unless mothlike They are compelled by the great light of the dairycase which casts Such delicious shadows behind them, or perhaps the egg cartons Stacked crisply coffinlike somehow suggest a suitability For their meditations on tough frailty and human wishes. The margarine and milk are neutral, and I like them Am cold and impervious while about me from every direction Hurl thunderous hoofbeats in echoes that sound my name. 64 ...