1321

IN THE SUN WITH GARY

I am the bookmaster in quotes
And we are walking to where, I swear,
The wise men have moved their fishing
Potential space (they went to college
In the eighties). I check my
Tendency to walk half a step
Ahead of anybody as he makes
Me to laugh. The great years

Of collage, I don't suppose they'd
Really mind the fake dog sleep
Of Fort Thunder, having had
"Up Yr Ass, Sport!" as a kind of
Rallying cry in the comic book
Paintings of their brighter brands.
The sun is dimmer than it was
Fifty years ago, and I am less blond

Than when I dodged holly briars
On the bumpy path out to Stockley Street
A feeling not unlike
Microtonal xylophone, books
Washing out to sea like integers
And us, laughing -- just as you can
Take the books out of the dustbin
But cannot extricate the dustbin from
Et cetera so it goes with us, or me
Rather, and my habit of doubt

We stop in at the nook that's replaced
The two separate platforms for cheap eats
And I pick up a popcorn chicken salad,
Gary takes smoked turkey and
We make off for the scene of the
Day Hammer Shield Open Space where
Tomorrow the farmers will come be
Not at all rustic, attracting
Attractive food shoppers

Today it's us and the pigeons
And I am all righteous about
The stupid convention demonstrations
Until a couple hundred pigeons arrive
Oil-necked and moving too fast
To rip apart a derelict bagel, I'm
Famished so it feels like an omen
But it's not, or if it is so
Was the spotless mourning dove
Jaywalking across Dyckman this a.m.

And then it's back to our respective
Positions of responsibility
I'm a third of the way through
My Christmas shopping and hurricane
Season has only started snuffing
The visible world with its gushers
Erupting from overpass drains

It'll be sunny for several hours more