Heaters that clank and moan like a junkyard drum set,
thick pea soup,
smashed garlic (use the back end of a heavy knife),
parking tickets,
the daily twelve or thirteen
clouds in suits
hustling to the train,
a child's art, a photograph of Derek Jeter, the walls gaining
clarity and shape,
an old coach, old Irishman, bounding out of the past
for a conversation, a real drink, we go back a long way
to when my consciousness was just
a drowsy frequency, a yawning Idaho
radio,
keeping two cars on the road,
arguments with my old man about
is it gravy or sauce? and
my mom's opinion, my sister's,
the classical music station, but only when the violins are playing
mostly alone or totally alone
a light out in the hall, an argument with a landlord,
a relationship and its variables,
loving one's wife as a form of church or prayer
or just plain fun. Today I am calling all this
Trout Fishing in America.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
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1 comment:
Sound of applause many miles away
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