Bayshore

An autumn evening.

But a brief moment the sunset lasts
With a growing chorus of crickets then
Comes the dark

Across the bayou, lights I start to see;
And I hear from far away the sounds
Of the distant high school football game

Autumn wraps its arms around me
Sitting on the side of a hill
Looking at the shadows and lights on the water
Feeling the breeze blow my hair

And a faint smell of wood-smoke is in the air
And the scent brings strong memory
As though reliving moments in the flesh
And not merely in thought
Of bygone days spent by the bayshore
Of your golden hair catching the last rays of sunset

Occasionally, a car goes by
And I watch the headlights trailing off
Around the bend

And life, or at least my life, this life
Has unity


(Photo by me. Originally Posted 11-14-2015. – Owen)

The Way My Mind Works

I wonder if that other fork is lonely?
All the other forks are in couples.

Who knew that forks were so cliquish?

He should find like a spoon, or a spork, or something.
Shock the neighbors.

I wonder if forks chew Trident? Or know they are tridents?
Is there such a brand anymore? I don’t even know.

I wonder if utensils ever feel used? I mean, they are.

I used to love to come up with different ways to place
The utensils around the plates when I was
Supposed to be setting the table properly.
Because I was a kid.
Am a kid.

It’s amazing how careful some parents are with their kids.
Then they hand them forks.
I mean, really.
I’m surprised my brother and I never tried to kill each other with forks.

Or that forks don’t just strike out on their own.
Maybe that one did.

Maybe he’s an introverted fork, like me.
The utensil drawer must be hell, then.
Like being at the mall during the Christmas rush.

Silverware is almost never actually made of silver.
Weird. You wouldn’t say glassware for plastic.
Anywhere isn’t made of any, though, so there’s that.

I wonder if Luke Skywalker’s aunt and uncle
Taught him to eat by saying,
“Luke. Use your fork…”

Melted Coinage

The Melted Coins Cover

I lay crossways on the backseat
of my father’s Volkswagen Type 3
reading “The Melted Coins”
a book I had just purchased
in North Chili New York

with a flimsy pillow beneath my back
and a lonely feeling
from this being
our first family vacation without
either my brother or my sister
who had grown up
and moved out

and I noted that
the original “Melted Coins”
had been about pirates
and tattoo parlors
and this ‘updated’ one
was about the theft of tribal mask
from a Native American tribe
and I thought my brother
would find that very funny

but he wasn’t there

the book was new and smelled like a new book
and I remember the smell of my father’s car

driving through Pennsylvania countryside

headed back home