Wednesday, June 17, 2020

After Dark, Before Dawn by Greg Clary

Fifty years ago tonight,
Fourth Avenue in Huntington, West Virginia,
was busy. Drivers circled the block
looking for parking places.
Stores were dark, beer joints were packed.
Carousers filled the streets.

Inside the swank Elephant Walk, a
black bartender named Zola Turner,
resplendent in a white linen jacket,
shook martinis, lit customer’s cigarettes,
swept up loose piles of greenbacks.

The band played:
YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND HER,
JUST FOLLOW THE SIGN,
DINING AND DANCING
COCKTAILS AND WINE.

Tonight, the words Del sang ring true:
NIGHT STILL FALLS BUT
IT DOESN’T MAKE A SOUND







Greg Clary is Professor Emeritus of Rehab and Human Services at Clarion University, Clarion Pa.
His poems have appeared in The Watershed Journal and North/South Appalachia.
His photographs have been published in The Sun Magazine, Looking at Appalachia, and The Watershed Journal.
He resides in Sligo, Pennsylvania and is a Son of Turkey Creek, West Virginia

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