Dolly Parton and Ansel Adams take on the rednacks
The pick up truck donuts in the wet field, spraying mud
on the Graphlex. Dolly Parton giggles. Her breasts jiggle.
Ansel Adams doesn't notice. He's wipling the mud off with a
white hankie. It's not enough. The next truck,
following behind, shoots not only mud, but
a half-filled beer can. The spay when it hits the camera
gets Ansel in the face.The third truck is shooting
at the first, and red shells pop out the window.
Buckshot whistles around Ansel Adam's head.
His geese rise from the pond, the heron from the shoreline.
It's not hunting season, but three of the geese
fall on the ground around Dolly. The plump thuds
get her attention. She's thinking goose dinner.
until one moans, soft and gurgly. She rushes over,
want to be sick, wants help it. But the rednecks
are splashing by again, spraying her dress and the round
flesh above is with mud. It's cold, and Dolly shrieks.
She picks up the tripod and swings it at the next truck,
cracking the windsheild. She runs toward the third truck,
screaming and swinging the tripod. Ansel gets a shot of it.
Not his nomral thing,but hey. The shadows he'd wated to capture on the rock above the posn have faded and shifted.
The birds flown, drama gone. He wishes the rednecks
would slip into the pond and drown, except for the pollution,
But they're still shotting at Dolly. How could they miss such a target, he wonders, and takes another shot through the muddy lens.
Then the rednecks shoot them both? Did you expect them to win against such odds?
I painted myself into a corner, How could unarmed Dolly Parton and Ansel Adams win against three truckloads of rednecks anyway?
I am certain of nothing but the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination- John Keats