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The Native
In
Tokyo, or maybe Nagasaki,
you'll find
a photo of Yours Truly, taken
down at
Wolski's Tavern in Milwaukee,
early in
the Ford administration.
I was
wearing short-shorts, and a cotton
T-shirt
(tie-dyed pink, running to green),
plus a
sweater—carefully flea-bitten
in the
manner favored by James Dean.
A chartered
bus was idling right behind me
as tourists
from Japan leapt out the door,
their
flashbulbs blasting bright enough to blind me,
preserving
me on film forevermore.
And now,
years later, when they wax nostalgic
about their
thrilling trip to the U.S.,
they'll
peer and gape again at that authentic
outback
woman, in her native dress.
Marilyn L. Taylor
©
2004; originally printed in Cream City Review.
Reprinted by permission of the author.
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