Campfire poem # 54

The embers of the campfire glow, fade
with the vagaries of the waning lake breeze
brilliant orange, gray, orange, silver, orange

reminding me of 1969; flashing, broken neon
small, single level roadside motels
on old black-and-white signed U.S. highways

frequented by people like those in my parents
blue Plymouth Fury; mom and dad up front,
my grandfather and I in the cavernous back seat;
Mount Rushmore, Yellowstone Park, Colorado.

Roadside neon ‘VACANCY’ signs beckoned;
scratchy carpet, the aroma of Pine Sol, two beds –
on lucky nights, the amusement-park caliber
Magic Fingers variety – thrill ride for a dime

The embers are fading… lighter orange, silver,
gray. Bright orange, a last time. luminous silver,
gray to wispily smoldering black.

Sign fire flickers out; memories burn brightly