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After Buying a Portrait of Robert E. Lee at Arlington House

After Buying a Portrait of Robert E. Lee at Arlington House Mason-Dixon Lines P O E T RY B Y V. J. KO P P "I realize now it was a trap, one he would have sensed in advance . . ." Rendering of Robert E. Lee in battle, from A Popular Life of Gen. Robert Edward Lee, published by J. Murphy & Co. in Baltimore, 1872. Will she always be the uncivil servant to me, That surly federal employee at the gift-shop register? Gray-green as money, her eyes took a bead on me Soon as I entered the slave-quarters-turned-souvenir shop. Unblinking, panning like a security camera, she stared As I surveyed first the history books then stopped beneath The portrait hung above the reproductions bin. She knew me, My kind, the type of misty tourist susceptible to Marse Robert, Ungloved hands crossed on arms, sword cocked to one side, Sad, hatless, impeccably gray, staring down the North. I realize now it was a trap, one he would have sensed in advance: The rows of white crosses, the officers' graves, monumental, The reproduced Civil War banjo music plinking up the air-- All parts of a government plot just to get my money back. Stupid to be numbed by the http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Southern Cultures University of North Carolina Press

After Buying a Portrait of Robert E. Lee at Arlington House

Southern Cultures , Volume 7 (4) – Jan 11, 2001

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Publisher
University of North Carolina Press
Copyright
Copyright © 2001 Center for the Study of the American South.
ISSN
1534-1488
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

Mason-Dixon Lines P O E T RY B Y V. J. KO P P "I realize now it was a trap, one he would have sensed in advance . . ." Rendering of Robert E. Lee in battle, from A Popular Life of Gen. Robert Edward Lee, published by J. Murphy & Co. in Baltimore, 1872. Will she always be the uncivil servant to me, That surly federal employee at the gift-shop register? Gray-green as money, her eyes took a bead on me Soon as I entered the slave-quarters-turned-souvenir shop. Unblinking, panning like a security camera, she stared As I surveyed first the history books then stopped beneath The portrait hung above the reproductions bin. She knew me, My kind, the type of misty tourist susceptible to Marse Robert, Ungloved hands crossed on arms, sword cocked to one side, Sad, hatless, impeccably gray, staring down the North. I realize now it was a trap, one he would have sensed in advance: The rows of white crosses, the officers' graves, monumental, The reproduced Civil War banjo music plinking up the air-- All parts of a government plot just to get my money back. Stupid to be numbed by the

Journal

Southern CulturesUniversity of North Carolina Press

Published: Jan 11, 2001

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