I was four years old, on the beautiful day,
when the trees had started to turn,
and leaves were falling,
Ann Morrison Park, picnic and play,
Running and catching each other,
Parents playing horseshoes, day dwindling down,
just a few more points, we would leave.
I was tired, wanted to stay,
“We’ll go in just a minute” Mom said,
I walked across, sat down on my Fathers boot,
When Harry Burgess took that last long throw,
And the steel horseshoe hit the post, spun, and like metal to a magnet veered toward my Dad,
And I took it full in the face.
Panic ensued, blood ran like water, a kid screamed so loud you couldn’t hear, (it was me),
In terrible awful pain we shoved into two cars, and raced away to the Dr.’s house.
Dr. looked, said “Go to my office!”
Mother and I went, hanging the bright red rag from my face,
He told her to “Go out and sit down and hang your head between you knees!” She went.
Looked at me and said “Cry all you want.” And I did.
Nine stitches inside my nose to sew the center piece back to the skin.
A worried look, as his fear of my cheek bone being split, he sent us home.
Memories are made of these untimely moments, that only a small child can see, and remember, sixty years later, driving through the park.
Ralph Peck
Photo By Ralph Peck
1961 Ann Morrison Park
Boise, Idaho
Yorumlar