Poem of the Week, by Reid Bush

– Reid Bush

Driving State Road 60 northwest out of Salem,

10 miles out–
and 10 before you come to Spring Mill Park–

off to your right –for just a blacktop minute–
is Campbellsburg,

which was a town
when the man you were named for had his store there,

but a glance through your window reveals it’s now gray
ugly sag and fall.

And you wonder who lives there now
and how anyone
even to have a brick store all his own
ever could.

But nothing about it matters to you half as much as that your dad
came in from that hill farm to the north
to go to high school there.

And that’s what you always point out to whoever’s with you in the

And through the years what all your passengers have had in
common is
now matter how you point it out
they can’t care enough.

For more information on Reid Bush, please click here: http://www.wildviolet.net/blue_moon/contributors.html

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/pages/Alison-McGhee/119862491361265?ref=ts


  1. oreo · November 17, 2012

    Having driven through myriad small towns across America, I love that phrase, “just a blacktop minute.” What a perfect description.

    Also, this reminds me so much of my father, and how he’s always trying to tell people (including me) something deep and meaningful about his small town Ohio childhood, often involving his father and buildings that are no longer standing. Sadly, here in this biggish city we just never care enough.


  2. alison · November 30, 2012

    That’s the thing of it, isn’t it, Oreo. No one else can ever care enough, no matter how much they might love us, no matter how much we want them to care as much as us. After a while it turns into a thing you keep inside yourself, because only you can match your own caring. xo


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