"The Historic Jean Bonnet Tavern" In the morning I sip coffee with my feet propped on the railing of the second-floor balcony of the Historic Jean Bonnet Tavern, where I spent the night in a hard cot wrapped in sheets the color of apple pie. Zip ties hoist a flag bunting beneath the rail. It’s the Fourth of July, and already baking out. My seat overlooks two highways: the two-lane U.S. Route 30 and the four-lane Interstate 70. Freight trucks trundle past. In the 1760s, colonists could walk a dirt path across what is now called Pennsylvania, and— according to a paragraph on the back of the menu— see the lamplit Tavern arise from the darkened hills and waver like a spring on the horizon, taste the promise of golden ale. As I sit, a Fedex truck jake-brakes having spotted a perched police cruiser. A straightpiped Civic downshifts away a flock of sparrows as the leathered-up Harley couples roll in for lunch. At the next balcony over, someone is smoking a cigarette. A stiff gust blows past and snaps the zip tied bunting free. As the flag flies over the parking lot, I can almost see the eroded travelers, their staunch woolen coats, the conviction they cradled like lace. The smoke dissipates. Perched on the powerlines, the sparrows return.
Niccolo Bechtler is a poet from central New Jersey. He currently studies in the MFA program at the University of Washington, Seattle (on unceded Coast Salish lands), where he also teaches undergraduate writing courses. Before moving to Seattle, he studied journalism and creative writing at American University in Washington, DC. His poetry has appeared in Glassworks, American Literary, and elsewhere. Prior to beginning graduate school, he worked for several years as a bicycle mechanic.
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