Cheboygan
Now I’m in Cheboygan
The band plays ‘Under the Bridge’
There’s a Wolverine above the mirror
‘Bernadette’ I told my car ‘You’re my gal, just you’ finally doing 90 miles and free from labor day Zingerland traffic
One guy looks like James Franco a bit punched out by ‘small town drama’ as he put it..
He’s seeing one of the two pretty bartenders,
(actually every single woman in this bar is beautiful and none are single) but his mind is doing 50, his mind is playing pool..
What good advice I could give him? Zero.
I just sipped slowly my sierra and wrote on the napkin
The drummer’s mother
‘You write?’ the woman with the walker came up to me
‘I’m the drummer’s mother’
I looked over at the drummer, he was drumming loud
All I could see in her eyes was acceptance and love
‘This is just a small good town’
‘I’m a published poet,’ she said ‘I’ll read you one next break’
She went back to her table and danced, she danced with a walker, in some ways this was the most beautiful thing I’d seen, well since Micha, or the tall girl swaying with the big tattooed guy
She recited me a poem
It was about ..
a belonging that I couldn’t understand
She waved and cheered as I drifted out the door
the music still drummed bright
Wooden Shark
‘This is the Road’
I told myself aloud
Driving up to UP
You leave before you can’t leave
Stay or leave
Right or left
Those are essentially the only questions
You watch everything pass and
Feel the weight of it passing pass
Only the true form of your longing
will remain
The rest are blades of grass passing
The green you keep
There’s a wooden shark above her fridge
‘This is the Road’
You leave before you
Can’t leave
300 miles north
Like trying
To write about
Falling out of that plane
I can only write this one now
I give up
A Letter
I started to write her a letter
But it threatened to dis-
Close the mystery
That early river
Civilizations
Created myths and
Fire to reveal and conceal
I tripped over the grail in the snow with her one night too soon to know what was inside the empty trees of the great forest
On my side of the landslide
I was still running
We were alone
In the letter
I stopped writing