poems & photos
But the argument
carries on, goes around
corners, crosses the
road, turns back on
itself, and
eventually ends up
somewhere neither
of us has ever been
before–at least,
not sober, and not
during daylight hours.
An accidental poem by Nick Hornby via High Fidelity.
Having skittered clear
across the wet intersection,
one regretful person
(clutched in terror)
was the reason for
standstill traffic
tonight
Finally, it was my
turn to rubberneck,
when this ominous,
arresting image
caught me instead:
a procession of
autos, snaked miles
into the distance–
a thousand p u f f s s
of exhaust breath
hanging still
in the night
Come morning, we slid
tippy kayaks into the Sound,
Poulsbo-bound for breakfast
Fearless oars separated
families of jellyfish, we mean
no harm, just passing through
And geoducks – what strange
creations, sand-fountains that
could dance to Mozart
Comfort of land, sun-drenched
streets of shops, families,
Norwegian oddities, pastries
the size of frisbees.
On mornings crisp with new
Grass glazed with frozen dew
Atop the concrete hill,
Buildings bricked and still
Warm chlorine trips my thoughts
Stopping with sharp recognition
I daydream of white swim caps,
Slow diving with dolphin-precision
Together, we forgive the rind
with a sharpened knife
You split with force
the egg-shaped squash
Whose entrails I spoon
onto the butcher’s block
Spreading like an orange
net, loaded with teardrop seeds
The belly of our oven is
amber-glowing, ready
