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Picnic by the Dam
by Robert Demaree

 

The Pond Association meets again tonight.
Sedimentation, run-off will be discussed,
Lemonade served, pale, water on pink powder,
Sugar cookies from the IGA.
My father presided, years ago,
His only task to plan
The picnic they used to have.
He would confer with lawyers and their wives
Regarding condiments.
It comes back to me now:
Strollers parked by the dam, at the water's edge,
In the heavy dusk of a summer day;
The crackling, the bouquet—
Hot dogs oozing onto charcoal embers,
Faint orange glow in the early darkness.
The girls who rode in those strollers
Have long since packed away the ones
They pushed themselves.
This was before directors' insurance
And fear of litigious people
Downstream from the dam.