A Poem By Edsel Ford

My dear, I have the photographs you sent
From Williamsburg and Richmond and the sea,
In which the lady with you, whose intent
No doubt was good, focused incessantly
Around and over you, at some quaint sight,
Edging you out in favor of a wave,
A bridge, a tree. And yet, dear girl, how bright
You had to be,--though edited, how brave!
Didn't she know that when you are in Boston,
You are its first attraction? And likewise
in Cuttyhunk? This ferry that you crossed on
Means nothing now, because your laughing eyes
Were not included in the snapshot, too;
I'd hoped to have three thousand miles of you.
*
I'm not sure I have it letter-perfect in my mind. I read this poem in The New Yorker many years ago, and I thought the poet was Henry Ford's son Edsel. But not so. This Edsel Ford was born in Alabama in 1928, so says Wikipedia, and grew up in Arkansas. He was a poet who published several books, but I couldn't find this particular poem online. I'm glad it stuck in my memory.

And, I'm glad to find out Ford's true identity.