Once upon a time

there were black swans,

testosterone-laden geese,

and a white peacock.

It never went near the water,

but pecked for insects in the leaves

near the ranger’s house. Once,

I saw it fly up into a tree.

 

None of us knew the Dunnegan brothers

who loved this town’s children so much

they gave us swings sets in concrete,

and sliding boards, and picnic pavilions

for our family reunions. Even restrooms

fancier than we had ever seen, living out

highway 13, on a farm with no running water.

The Bolivar park was our idea of heaven.