Degrees      for my father John Stickney

In 40's photo

Palm tree fronds pointed

North, south, east, west

And degrees in-between;

A compass of brittle green

Behind soldiers posing

With female companions

Near Hollywood Palladium's

Curved marquee.

My young dad,

New to West Coast,

Wore his Army uniform

And sported sunglasses

To sightsee. He mentions

"Mary Lou" on snapshot's

Reverse. She too donned

Dark lenses, and I wonder,

Who's that gal? 

I've got

Dad's wartime photograph

Affixed to my dash

And drive around town

Looking for picture's

Exact locale.

The Art Deco venue

Remains,

Duo-lamp street lights

Are gone,

Extending palms 

Stripe sidewalks

With shade.

I'm amazed to see

The Hollywood Community

Hospital a block south

From where my father

And his friends stood

Sixty years before.

Dad could never

Have imagined,

The facility where

He'd pass away,

Would rise behind

His shoulder.

I see my father flying

Above my ear,

He is small like a feather,

He wears the khakis

I bought for him,

And one of the soft knit shirts.

Near the end he said

They had put weights

In his shoes, made it

Too heavy to walk,

It only told me he was

Getting ready to launch--

I drive east on Sunset,

Unruly crowns flare

Atop gray caudices,

Station sides of thoroughfare,

All compasses of brittle green--

Laura Stickney  20025

notes:

caudices-- Trunks of palm trees. pronounced: 

ko' di-sees

photograph of my father with companions,

Sunset Boulevard, c. 1943