Serving House: A Journal of Literary Arts
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SHJ Issue 6
Fall 2012

Why I Never Got to Write It Down

by Michael Nieman

Driving home, hazy with pot,
my hand on your knee, each of us listening
to the rock and roll of our own thoughts

I am happy because I know tonight
your particular technique of kissing
will lead to slippery joys.

Then it hits me; our love now is large enough to contain
all our petty annoyances
and dissatisfactions

like crabs contentedly feeding
in the tumult of an enormous wave.
I think about taking out my notebook

to jot down this insight, but by then
we’re parked in the driveway and you’re
biting my lower lip.


SHJ Issue 6
Fall 2012

Michael Nieman

was born in Bump City in 1955. Grew up a wannabe hippie. Studied with John Stehman in The Seattle Poetry Workshop in the early eighties. Car salesman since 89. Took up the banjo in 06 after a cancer diagnosis. No longer have cancer but still have the banjo. Father of two daughters. Grandfather of two girls, one an excellent catcher-shortstop and the other a fine second baseman, and a grandson, 22 months, position as yet undetermined.

“...we have been born here to witness and celebrate. We wonder at our purpose for living. Our purpose
is to perceive the fantastic. Why have a universe if there is no audience?” — Ray Bradbury