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By Chris Submitted by chris Date: 2002 Jun 11 Comment on this Work [[2002.06.11.02.32.32431]] |
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been thinking a lot lately about my grandfather the way he was oh a decade or two ago sitting in fine new york summer shade in white undershirt on narrow wooden front porch along shaded street saying the things he used to say before the emphysema and general fucked-up nature of time passing been thinking too of firsts first love-- which is usually not and in my case certainly not best love even though for one brief less-than-a-second in this universe it is the only love yeah it must have been the time i walked into the rhode island bait store with the oyster-shell floor only a child then with his father knowing nothing but seeing a girl and her seeing me and us just staring at each other knowing there was more to say but that we would not have all the right words for a very long time twenty years later i still don't have them or much else and i do not write poetry anymore because the world remains what it is with or without poetry or at least this is my excuse which is not to say that here in the emphatic arid now i never think of things like that saltair morning or my grandfather or the first time i saw the oklahoma prairie under scattered early-september thunderheads it is also not to say that random thoughts never collide-- thoughts meaning about as much as random clouds i will watch on my next day off far out in the desert |