picked up a hitchhiker
one bitter day standing
on an exit ramp like
a statue wearing a plaid
shirt, jeans, tenner shoes
and looking quite red,
but I don’t think
he was a communist.
He didn’t say much,
sizing me up, no doubt
thinking I was a ****.
So I offered him a
Marlboro and said that I
once dated a girl who
lived nearby, right behind
Jessup’s Cut ha, ha, ha.
He said that’s where he was
coming from, dead serious, on
his way to Glen Burnie.
I peeled off my coat at the
first red light and laid it
on the seat between us,
“Take it, I’ve got another.”
He gave me a look that
said it would be beneath
his dignity. Maybe
taking my clothes off made
him nervous and so I
said it would be pretty
stupid to freeze to death
first day out of the Cut.
“I guess so, he said,” then
took the coat and hopped out,
probably thinking
I was a communist.

lying awake
trying to recall
all the people I’ve known
is a form of insanity
I’m sure
but keeps monsters
under the bed
held back
by myriad faces looming
in the dark—
family and friends,
schoolmates and co-workers
GIs and wayfaring strangers
met along the way—
no one speaks
they just well-up
like pages in a photo album
telling stories with no
narrative or dialogue
only reflections
of lives that touched
at one time or another
then faded into the night

I wish I could tell you
     all the things
     I’ve learned along the way
     like what’s what and
     how high is up

I suppose it all started with
     mom and apple pie
     and the pledge of allegiance
     which led to please mister
     Custer I don’t want to go

Oh, I read the Bible
     cover to cover
     only skipping the
     begetting and begotting
     and most of the ****** stuff

The flood was the only part
     I liked, saving animals
     2 by 2 and all
     but then it all ended
     on Judgment Day

And so I read other sacred books
     the Upanishads, Vedas
     the I Ching and Koran
     and just to be fair
     the Book of Mormon by Jove

The only thing learned was to
     take it all with a grain of salt
     living in the moment day by day
     and you’ll surely reach the promised
     land or the dark side of the moon

a slight breeze
stirs the leaves
the cicadae sing
their siren song
echoing time,
lost memories

canopies of green
summers past
muddled dreams
fields and streams
running fast
free at last

still the cicadae
stir and sing
the song’s the same
the breeze still fair…
now I am here
once I was there