Black rain imprisoned Fort Clatsop<\/p>\n\n\n\n
and the Corps of Discovery<\/p>\n\n\n\n
during a winter on the Oregon Coast.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Two centuries later,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rose and I paid a visit to the fort<\/p>\n\n\n\n
on a December afternoon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A squall hit like sheets of plywood falling from the sky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Dark, twisting gremlins blew trumpets of rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Water ran down conifers like waterfalls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The grounds were a lake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Not a vehicle in the parking lot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Gift shop and museum closed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No rangers around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Free admission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We began our tour of the fort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Just walked right in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rose lit an American Spirit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
How she kept smoking in the deluge<\/p>\n\n\n\n
was something out of noir.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I narrated my version<\/p>\n\n\n\n
of the Lewis and Clark Expedition,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the real one,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
not the account recorded for future publication,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
worshiped by the academic priesthood<\/p>\n\n\n\n
who believe what happened in the journals<\/p>\n\n\n\n
is all that happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Omissions, the real story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We inspected the kitchen,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
imagining stringy elk,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
endless smoked salmon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On to the barracks,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
so dark inside Rose had to<\/p>\n\n\n\n
torch the way with her lighter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What mold and masturbation,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
fellatio and fornication<\/p>\n\n\n\n
went on among the troops in here!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Next, we entered the melancholy<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Captain Lewis’ quarters,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the dank, dreary place where he suffered<\/p>\n\n\n\n
the greatest writer’s block<\/p>\n\n\n\n
in American history.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Rose looked out the only window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She lit another American Spirit,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
flung the lighter,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
dangled the cigarette in her lips,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
slid down her Lycras and panties,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
clenched the jambs,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
exhaled smoke,<\/p>\n\n\n\n
(always through the nose, a real pro),<\/p>\n\n\n\n
and thrust her ass toward me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She never said a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wrenched her hips with my hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She sashayed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Oh Sacajawea!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Oh Meriwether!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n She blew a smoke ring into rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Top that Veronica Lake or Barbara Stanwyck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We repaired to the Sipin’ In Tavern<\/p>\n\n\n\n on the Skipanon River.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I refused Rose<\/p>\n\n\n\n her usual can of Hamm’s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We were celebrating.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sacajawea must drink the best,<\/p>\n\n\n\n a well vodka cran.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The tavern listed over the river,<\/p>\n\n\n\n reeked of grease and popcorn,<\/p>\n\n\n\n dead animals mounted on the walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rose wanted to know if I was going to write it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I started right in with a golf pencil on a napkin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rose always loved watching me write.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And correcting her atrocious grammar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The gorgeous queen of double negatives!<\/p>\n\n\n\n A week later Fort Clatsop burned to the ground.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It made the national news.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Coals from the re-enactors’ forge<\/p>\n\n\n\n ignited a fire at midnight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We laughed at that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Sure, blame the coals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I recount this true tale<\/p>\n\n\n\n not to drink a milkshake of nostalgia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Rose was free verse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n We need more Roses in the world<\/p>\n\n\n\n to undermine<\/p>\n\n\n\n everything insidious<\/p>\n\n\n\n that digital life has inflicted upon us,<\/p>\n\n\n\n such as you can’t get laid in Fort Clatsop anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If Roses don’t bloom,<\/p>\n\n\n\n we all wilt.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Black rain imprisoned Fort Clatsop and the Corps of Discovery during a winter on the Oregon Coast. Two centuries later, Rose and I paid a visit to the fort on a December afternoon. A squall hit like sheets of plywood falling from the sky. Dark, twisting gremlins blew trumpets of rain. Water ran down conifers […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":9803,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10,16],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11296","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-meditations","category-poetry","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11296","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=11296"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11296\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=11296"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=11296"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=11296"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}