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The Three-Mile Bridge: (Across Pensacola Bay on a Span of Poems)

Jack Beach

 FormatISBN Price  
This Book is Available Paperback (5x8)9780759639409 £ 9.25  
About the Book

The Three-Mile Bridge is a trip, a short one in terms of distance, but a profound one in terms of time. Unstructured poetry is the perfect medium to get you from shore to shore; it can catch weather, time of day, season, or mood (be it euphoria, booziness, or road rage) in a word, line, or at its most verbose, stanza. Over sixteen years I have engaged in a love affair with my Bridge. You will, too.

About the Author

Jack Beach is a product of the "breadbasket of America," the Middle West. Born and reared in Galesburg, Illinois (just far enough from the Mississippi to escape being labeled a "river rat,") his education ranged from Farnham Elementary, Lombard Jr.High, and Galesburg Senior High School, on to The Goodman Theatre, University of Iowa, and Western Reserve University in Cleveland, where he sealed his Ph.D in Theatre with a hefty Dissertation on Joan of Arc in Drama. By one of those fortunate quirks of fate, his first teaching position was as Assistant Director of Theatre at the University of Kansas in Lawrence. He held this spot for nineteen years, teaching Acting and staging plays from the Classical and Modern reps. as well as musicals and operas. In addition, he and his family traveled abroad extensively, and he started writing poems and stories on the side.

Dr. B. (as he is known) was never completely at home in Middle America. He yearned for water (a Cancer) and The Deep South (fascinated with Southern writers). The chance came when he moved first to a teaching position in Atlanta, then deeper South upon retirement to Pensacola (with a little pad in New Orleans). Here he spends his time writing, reading from his works, working Crosswords, and carousing in the French Quarter. He says, "I’ve never met a Mardi Gras I didn’t like."

This is his first published book, although stories and poems have appeared in regional publications -- notably The Emerald Coast Review.

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Bridge

From dawn to dawn to dawn
    I amble on
    yawning
    rambling across
    Pensacola Bay
Counting for the ump-teenth time
    my one hundred and
    seventy-nine
    lily-stemmed
    lampposts
    (except the one
    the semi
    smashed
    last fall).
So, the number’s odd, you see,
    not all
    even-Steven
    as it
    otherwise
    would be.
Wet Bay mists dampen my underbelly
    while one hundred and
    seventy-nine
    lily-lowered eyes
    cower under a
    spangled shower
    of stars.
I wonder: what’s ahead in my
    ad-lib
    improvised
    versified
    sea-sprayed
    shore to shore
    Day.

REDNECK RIVIERA

G------ it’s hot!
Skin cracks like
    an old plaster wall.
Parched tires blister from thirst.
Radiators whistle "Water Boy"
    instead of "Dixie."
Nothin’ to do ‘bout this Bridge
    traffic jam except cuss
    and pray for patience.
The pickup’s so hot back there
the kids and Grandpa’ll
    burn their asses off
    if they’re not careful.
Reminds me of that steam bath
    in Hot Rocks, Arkansas,
    that time we drove up
    to visit Uncle Keith,
    Aunt Effie, and the cousins.

At P’cola Beach, Rednecks are
    red all over with pink children
    runnin’ around in wet underwear
    throwin’ sand.
Tomorrow that College crowd’s gonna be
    movin’ like zombie Hot Dogs
    on Popsicle sticks over
at their tony Hilton Grand
    Tiki House
Holiday Inn
The Dunes . . .
Why, they say the outside lights
    at Motel 6 has all blowed out
    on account of heat stroke.

G------ it’s hot.
Why don’t this traffic MOVE!!

gulled

Where's that guy in the shiny
    champagne Honda
    who lays on the horn
    passin’ me sunnin' on
my Bridge rail mornings
    scarin' the pin feathers
    off my tail?
Ah, ha! There's the jerk below
    Mr. silver streak
    Mr. horn freak
    Mr. flippity-fop
    see the fluffy clouds
    reflected in his spotless
    Honda Accord’s top . . .
Operations check: his speed
    my speed
    tail wind lift
    height
    weight
    vertical drift
    trajectory . . .
Roger ready?
Red Alert on Pensacola Bay . . .
    BOMBS AWAY!!!

Other Books By This Author
 
The Grand Tour
WITHOUT A NET
Mardi Gras