Wonderful stuff, David. You always make me smile. I particularly
love the w(h)ine line.
But unless we're going to accept Western time as definitive, this was a
Monday poem.
Ursula,
in North Bay where we know what's when
David Ritchie wrote:
I am offered a s'more
"There's none so strange as folk," is my father's line.
Who better than we to prove this?
After a week of strangeness--if you knew the details, you'd know--
and a good bit of crabbing,
we escaped to a rented shack on the coast, to find
next our four walls, (the humblest of their kind)
patriotic, grass-watering neighbours, who had roped around,
and planted a night-lit flag, to flutter and prove
exactly which land was their sand.
On the completely public beach below, guys parked.
Mostly surfers, who surely love a lark,
and enjoy the sheer pleasure of driving in low gear,
at night they set to churning every inch that the sea laid flat.
Here in the West, we mostly go with this, the flow.
Freedom gives you Yours;
but she makes me wine,
a steak, a fire on the beach,
fun-filled times. But for better neighbors, and the occasional gorgeous relative,
who could want for anything more?
David Ritchie Portland, Oregon
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