I vacationed in Jackson, Tennessee,
alone, and stayed at the Casey Jones Hotel and Museum
I bought two six packs of tall-boy Budweiser
and drank one and stared at "Ominous Ocean" crashing on
gray, rocky shore while the other beers cooled on a tepid air conditioner.
Next day I checked out and visited the caboose behind the
hotel and wondered how it got there without tracks
and if it really had anything to do with Casey Jones
and who was Casey Jones.
I entered, and followed Roy through the museum, reading his
name over and over on the back of his belt and wondering if
that was something he would buy for himself,
and he asked to see the hotel receipt
and he didn't know that I threw up French toast
before check out and that I had a five-foot original oil
painting by an anonymous artist in the back of my Chevrolet.