Old 98


I drove down to Dixie Belle Curve

and took a picture of the road where

the state highway department was moving it,

to make room for a housing project on the beach,

that is, to make it more private.  I took a picture

with my point-and-shoot camera.  I was a photojournalist.

My own paparazzo.






None of the papers covered this story.

It wasn’t news.  It was business as usual.

Mr. Peabody’s coal trains had hauled it away.





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