Fishing in the Chattahoochee

by Tammy Trendle

It is lunch time. Beside the road
lies a carcass of what was once a dog.
On the corner a man sells roses.
Below the overpass there are men
fishing in the Chattahoochee.

In this river dead bodies
have been found. Behind picnic tables
teenagers lose their virginity. Broken
glass beneath soft banks.

In the middle of a song
I hear him say I am indifferent.
I remember when we were younger
tubing down the river.
I didn’t wear makeup that day.
Somewhere there is a picture.