Poem of the Week

I walkt to the back of the house in the

yard near the garage & saw him in a

white shirt playing ping pong with a patient

or friend or someone else who lived in the

house & there he was.

I sat at the table where we were reading

aloud together & heard him from behind where

he was crying aloud & wearing his pink

leather number on the west coast & I

must tell you he is a star.

Maybe Holofernes.

He tried to grow a mustache & took his

vacation in a classy hotel in bermuda where

he sat & drank bourbon with ice, a poet

taking his own kind of holiday, hooray.

Judy lookt as if she wanted to be him

or be with him or kill him.

I think that all the time he was listening

to the ice in the glass his ear was thinking

ping

pong

ping

pong

pingngngngng

One time he placed a bottle of Pinch on the

coat hook on the back of the door in our

clothes closet & we opened & closed the door

for two months before we found the bottle

of Pinch & it should have fallen off many

times so we drank it & later I bought him

a bottle of Pinch in August because the night

before we had been drinking bourbon on his

credit card in the bar where he goes to

drink his own way, the poet.

There he was, on the tape, all over the

country, making personal appearances, Captain

Poetry, listening to the voice of the four

horsemen in the children's fiery

chamber of verse.