[lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Poem


Where a sky of Mars black, scumbled into cerelean and thundery blues,
meets the stormy Pacific just beyond our coast,
where pollock mass in squads,
and plot shitty alliances with gulls,
all that stands between America and chaos
at Oceanside, Oregon, are two huge rocks.

From a clifftop, 
like Napoleon on Helena,
I surveyed them.
In the nearground--which isn't "ground" at all, but grinding water--
a chaos of waves, interfering at wild angles, did their Physics,
and reminded me of skirmishers, pouring behind wavering lines.
Also, beer.

I went inside and watched the debate;
spent time in the company of two truckling men, built like Chevies.
Eventually they shut up.
In the ensuing darkness, squalls came and went.
Nature knew no peace, but finally it passed me some,
like ketchup.

After the usual tossing and turning,
we woke to a new dawn, which was pretty much the same as the old dawn.
Someone--not in our party--ordered, "Two tall grande Americanos, with room."
I thought, "Let me say this about that."

David Ritchie
Portland, Oregon



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