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.
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.