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Poetry | June 2012

Venture

By Jane Blanchard

One July, Daddy hitched
a pop-up camper to the Dodge sedan
and drove the four of us to Florida,
where Mama served Franco-American
from an electric skillet before we brushed
our teeth in his and her bathrooms
of concrete blocks and finally fell asleep
to mosquitoes, then awoke to go
to the nearest motel that offered
a free night in exchange for
checking out the new lots
just past the swamp.

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