Compañero
Is this the hook? Where do you put the worm?
The father of youdunit has fell from the curve
onward to a vague elsewhere. I pray there are bars
with the one sole beauty who’ll continually turn
& spin, barefooted, it gives, & serves.
While the lowest of us look up for the star
who was the lightness & light.
Backfiring down wide, palmed boulevards; a French car,
rounded toes. A merchant marine thumbs his nose,
a look on his face: delight.
Sometimes I see the father in him. I’m going
back now thirty years! New York City is far.
I am outside, walking, spazerien—to smoke, drink
coffee, & when I do it together, it is indeed fantastic.
There are a lot of us too, you’re not the only one.
I am an extra human learning to cope.
Will you read this poem of mine? It stinks.
But someday it’ll make a good poem. I hope, I hope, I hope.
