Tuesday, February 12, 2008


Photo by S. Auberle
not near as interesting as it sounds
like it should be set on a green, misty hill
in Ireland--County Clare, perhaps
instead it's a tiny bar in the Comfort Inn
Milwaukee, Wisconsin in a blizzard
but it is comfortable, especially when
you look outside and inside
these people may become very familiar to me
over the next hours-- we gather round the fireplace
drink coffee, read the newspaper, fret
over what--that we're warm and comfortable
and drinking coffee when over fifty people
have died in the southern end of this storm
when Jim, who I do not know, other than
from conversation at the next table is gone too
and his wake was supposed to be today
one of those where the place is overflowing and
Holy Christ, he's younger than me--brain tumor
and he was such an honest guy--why you could trust him
with anything and his wife, she made the best
cinnamon rolls I've ever tasted
and my fortune cookie from last night's Chinese
says you will travel far and wide
but not today and the TV is saying
there's a nine mile stretch in Kentucky
where every home is flattened...


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