Seven Places in America

by Miriam Sagan

American

Tim Prythero

mixed media, 1988

The trailer is pale blue and white

With pink striped awnings, a pink flamingo

On the door. Saguaro cactus with an owl in the yard

And a Madonna in a blue stucco shell

Or an inverted bathtub.

A kitschy statue of a boy in a sombrero

Pulls a burro…this is the border

But between what and where?

I admire the “American” trailer as always

Next to the Women’s Room at the Albuquerque airport

My usual point of departure

This time for Fort Lauderdale, where I’ll sleep

At a Ramada lit by tiki torches

Fake Polynesian effect around the pool

Where plastic flowers entwine

With real multivariegated leaves

And dreams border on the subtropics.

I had house guests, once,

Who wanted to see “the real” city of Santa Fe

Which they’d heard had gotten fake

By real, they meant the old fake, not the new—

Fred Harvey thunderbird designs in silver

Or rugs woven, pots painted, for the tourist trade

But old enough so the motive fades

And makes an image of the authentic.

They didn’t mean they wanted to see the “real real” city

Of gang graffiti, drunk drivers, or my usual trips

To the orthodontist or Ross Dress for Less.

And at Jackalope—Folk Art by the Truckload—

They were confused

By my enthusiasm

Pulling out of a cluttered bin

A necklace of tiny plastic birds and animals

With a “carved” turquoise plastic bear

And my delight—look!

Fake Zuni jewelry!

I bought the fake and hung it on my neck

I’d always wanted a fake fetish necklace

Made in Asia.

I was at Zuni once

Before Easter, in the rain

The hornos were steaming in the plaza

Smoke filled the air

Streets ran mud, and I did buy

Inlaid turquoise and silver, a dragonfly

Concrete and yet approximate

Like any souvenir.