We arrived in Minot by rented truck
in a deep mid-winter freeze,
sleek drapes of ice and blown snow
decorated hills and city streets.
The housing agent shrugged,
defensive as he spoke of hillside hovels
soon to be condemned and destroyed,
that could be rented without a wait.

Our move-in parodied old movies,
we were three imitation Keystone Kops,
two male cats ignoring each other,
one sweet little dog named Snowball
who watched with smiling eyes,
as if it all was for her entertainment.
We hauled and carried, slipped, fell down,
but had all moved in by midnight.

We ignored carpets matted down flat,
and a bathroom of many dark secrets
that we hoped it would not disclose.
The kitchen was modest, yet filthy,
tiny fridge, small range, half-sinks,
cupboards to hold half of our things,
all dressed in multiple layers
of grease and old food spills, and dust.

Next day, we drove to buy groceries
in the truck, since there was no car,
then way across town to return it.
We hoped the torn visors would pass,
along with the seatbelt stubs
left after Snowball’s rest area snack.
The truck rental man delighted
in assessing additional charges.

The long, cold walk to The Swamp
-as the neighborhood named itself-
was interrupted half way there,
by police, who thought us vagrants.
We stood in the wind through inquiries.
On their leaving, we next encountered
a bridge with these painted words:
WELCOME TO THE MAGIC CITY.

It was just what cold misery needed,
three faces twitched, then a chuckle
began the short climb to hysterics.
We pointed and howled, slapped thighs
and danced in small circles of laughter.
We were warm for the last few blocks.
Three years later, Minot in my mirrors,
I thought; maybe the sign was right.

It had been home, for awhile.

Copyright 2008 Casey Mack