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.

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