Curtis Dunlap: LESSONS

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My father could quack like a duck. I don't mean repeatedly verbalizing the world "quack", I mean he literally could sound like a duck. As a child I was amused and entertained by his ability to do this but, as I matured into adulthood, his mimicry became an annoying idiosyncrasy.

I heard on the car radio this morning that, according to a recent study, quacking like a duck is good for you; it lightens the mood and employs the same facial muscles we use to smile. Amazed, I sat in my car listening to the remainder of the story. . .

April Fools —

a smiley face sticker

on the headstone

by Curtis Dunlap

Mayodan, North Carolina

Curtis Dunlap: COLD SNAP

He appears nervous, shifting his weight on one leg, then the other, as he informs me that he doesn't feel well and he's going home. He hands me his task list, turns around, and clocks out. I note that all of the work on the list has been completed early, which means he probably didn't take a morning or lunch break. I start to call after him, to ask if there is something wrong, but a moment of hesitation silences my question. It's none of my business if he wants to take the remainder of the day off; I've been thinking about taking a day or two myself.

The next morning a couple of maintenance workers find him slumped behind the steering wheel of his car in a parking lot near the coroner's office. Despite the lack of a note and no history of suicidal tendencies, his death is ruled "self-inflicted."

crack of a stick
underfoot —
killer frost

by Curtis Dunlap

Mayodan, North Carolina