Christopher Cheney & Francesca Chabrier
A Few Miles East of Pulaski

We wander through the narrow streets 

in turquoise bathing suits 
holding a photograph of the Iona girls
The citizens ask us if God exists
The people are shy and have different hand styles
They point out the girls in the picture
Alison, backstroke champion, free-floating
Julia, underwater in the murky pool
The citizens used to sell the jewelry found at the bottom
It's gone now, the change machine redesigned 
to dispense what was destroyed: the laundromat, 
the life guard chair, the sauna
We wonder if we'll ever get a sunburn
Whoever is applying lotion on our backs
keeps us up at night with an earache.
Remember when the girls brought back that trophy
and swore they'd never swim again, until the president
held his breath for ten minutes
The rafters were full and smelled like apples
The little fellas brought wax butterflies
Julia's boyfriend was the goldenboy of Maine 
Now this is a place where bowl cuts happen
Where the porch lights are left on overnight
Since the  storm of 2008 a booing has begun