Uncle Wayne never cut class early to visit Momma again.  Within a couple of weeks, a strange sight was soon seen around town.  Signs, written on old cardboard boxes began appearing on telephone and light polls.  In itself, this is not such an odd occurrence in a small town.   It’s citizens would often use this method to advertise yard sales, lost dogs and church festivals.  However, this signage was a bit out of the ordinary as it contained poetry, and not just any poetry…love poetry…  

One Monday morning, as Momma was driving to work, she saw the first of these signs.  She almost missed it because, as mentioned earlier, these signs are fairly common and almost become a part of landscape…something you wouldn’t notice.  Her eye was drawn to the sign because it addressed her in particular.  In big, bold black letters, there was her name:  “Evelyn.”

And the words didn’t stop with just her name.  There was more.  Momma was flustered.  She had missed what the rest of the sign said because she was driving.  After spending a few hesitant moments at the wheel of the car, Momma turned the car around and went back to make sure she knew just what she had seen.  As she approached the telephone poll bearing the sign, she slowed down.  There was no mistake.  There was her name:  “Evelyn.”  Momma pulled her car over, got out and walked up the poll so she could read the sign.

“Evelyn, Evelyn
Our eyes once met,
in the dark underground.
I can’t forget them
Though they made no sound…”

That was the end of the poem.  Momma stifled a groan.  The sentiment underneath might be heartfelt but the poet lacked skill.  Momma wasn’t sure what to do, though she was sure this “Evelyn” was her.  The only other “Evelyn” in town was 99, lived at the local nursing home and guarded her prize winning chocolate pound cake recipe with her very soul.  Many in town said she stayed alive out of the pure selfishness of not wanting her death to uncover the recipe.

Momma, the Evelyn so obviously addressed in the poem, wasn’t used to being pursued.  She had a small circle of friends, most of them not local, whom she had met in college.  All of them were married or about to be.  The fact that someone was trying to get her attention was as obvious as the fact that they didn’t know how to write poetry.  Momma leaned against her car and stared at the ground.  She was embarrassed.  The entire town would eventually pass by the sign and would soon be talking about her.  It was posted 15 feet off the ground and there was no way Momma could bring it down.  Whoever was behind the poem, obviously wanted to make sure he had her attention.

Momma slowly walked to the driver’s side of the car, sat down and positioned herself behind the wheel.  Before driving back out into the road, she rested her head on the steering wheel for a moment, bracing herself for the questions to come from her co-workers who may have seen the poem.  At least she didn’t work at the high school where she would have students old enough to ask questions as well.

It suddenly dawned on Momma who could be behind this stunt.  “That kid,” she thought “that kid from the beanery.  He actually cut class to come and see me and I told him not to.  It has to be him.  I’ll ignore it.  That’s what I’ll do.  I’ll ignore the whole thing and maybe he will get bored and quit.”

Momma drove on to her job at the school cafeteria, scheming as to how she would deflect questions.  If she could just hold things off for a couple of weeks, she was sure it would all die down.