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Terri L. French

Broken Totems

Old washing machines sit on the sagging porches of shotgun houses. Kudzu crawls over ditched pick-ups. Heaps of junk—sometimes containing the broken relics of revered college football mascots—form totems throughout weedgrown yards. And, often, at the center of this shambles, a large trampoline. From a low-flying airplane these black discs appear much like the blue rectangles of upper-middle-class suburban swimming pools. But rarely will you see children at play on them, jumping and flipping. More likely you’ll find an old skinny hound dog chained to one of their metal legs, baying for its dinner that may or may not come.

mill town
the lunch whistle sounds
down deserted streets

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About the Author

Terri L. French is a poet/writer and retired Massage Therapist. She and her husband, Ray, have four mostly grown children and one spoiled dog. They now enjoy the nomadic life of full-time RVers.