Just let me know
my fifteen minutes are up.
The Battle of Patrician was fought on a golf course
where bodies strew the tees and sand pits;
slaughter smeared the fairways
and wails rang from beneath the toppled carts;
heads rolled down the green
and well I suppose that’s what happens to golf courses.
I’d like to think
that I can wait weeks or days,
but I don’t know who I’ll be by then.
to all those little leaves
in the forest fall?
because it is good
is only right.
the night is whispers and smiles
and everybody knows it anyway;
so cut the act and lay it out
in the dark where everyone can see.
Leave me to jazz—
to Coltrane purring the moon and stars from his sax
and me and my Earle with much to do
and the chirps of crickets and Coltrane
into the night exploring the rhythm of being.
Mom died in 206;
in 204 a grown man wails;
in 208 two laughing nurses change the sheets.
When it’s all too stupid out here,
I hide in books.