On the Road.
My father knew of a store on the highway where they sold good
bologna so we stopped there--what is better than a working man on
It was better than it should be, all of it: the road and the car, the
land rolling by the windows, buckskin horses small in the great hot
the shine of my young mother's hand cutting the bologna with a
jackknife, the tips of her fingers placing a circle of meat on the
cracker, placing a crumble of cheese,
a woman laughing, a man in love, driving, his mouth open, his tongue
receiving the wafer from her hand.