THE ARGUMENT

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. 

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Spokane, WA

AUTOS IN THE NIGHT

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

POULSBO

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.

Poulsbo, WA
Poulsbo, WA