what if what you know is just a basement rug, ballgame on upstairs, crickets outside, september night, cool air, touch of smoke wafting in, forest fires north of here, is this enough? reading a random poem by nuala ní dhomhnaill, sounds irish to me, real irish, as in gaelic, depending on whether you’re english, not me, i’m american, as in, related to merica, tennessee talk, knew it, southern, sometimes reel southern, like fishing with words, deep accent, but here in california everything is different, mostly people ask me that, isn’t san francisco different? yes, and no, y’all still just people, politics a side, and who wants politics for a main course? not me
Tag: fishing
Pontiac Fiero & The American Dream
12 years old, not able to drive, but furious fingers tug on the rotary phone dialing again and again, the pontiac fiero will go to the 107th caller, says the Q107 DJ, as he cues up sweet dreams are made of these, frantic to somehow win, knowing the radio station won’t give it to me anyway, but the chase is everything, like sitting in a boat doing nothing but waiting, like scratching lottery cards, like betting everything on the yankees, busy signal, busy signal, time wasted, finally, you are the 94th caller, busy signal, i lost the car, i never had it.
Daniel W. Polk 