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Film Camera Days

David J. Thompson

I’m not exactly sure where we were then,
not even certain if we were headed
out west or back home east, but I think
it was South Dakota, somewhere out there
between the Badlands and Sioux Falls.
We came across this old rodeo arena,
or maybe it was a little stock car track,
in the middle of all that prairie nowhere.
I pulled off the highway, started up
the bumpy road leading to its parking lot.
What are you doing? my ex-wife Cathy asked.
Thought I’d try to take a few pictures,
I answered. Look at the sky. That blue.
All those clouds. It’ll be a perfect background.
Oh, she said, looking back to her magazine,
Don’t take all day, ok?

I walked around slowly, snapping photos,
probably I think now, of rusted signs and
a sad and sagging ticket booth. I bet I got
some good ones, too, but this was back
in the old film camera days, and all that stuff,
the negatives and the contact sheets, lost
in the all the break ups and moves and
crammed storage units since then.

As we drove away, Cathy was going through
our cd case, but couldn’t find anything she liked.
How much longer? she asked. Not much, I said,
staring up at the sky through the windshield
at clouds so perfectly white and low I thought
I could reach up and just grab one of them,
see and feel the damn thing right there close up
in my hands, but back then, I guess, I still believed
there were things I could hold onto.



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