Tina Barry

T i n a  B a r r y

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Ma and Pa

Pa Woodstock pushes Ma Woodstock in a makeshift rickshaw down Tinker Street. They’re tree-like, all twisted limbs and rough-hewn bark. Pa is the taller tree; Ma is smaller, but they look the same, especially with their long beards. The rickshaw is a monument on wheels to Ma, who waves at gawkers, a beauty queen on a float of faded flowers. With its black-light posters taped to the sides and tie-dyed rags fluttering, the rickshaw is a scrapbook, too. A ragged remembrance of the time Pa and Ma lived large, their house a patchwork of barn wood, a misshapen chimney emitting drifts of pot smoke, making people laugh.