[lit-ideas] Re: Sunday Poem
- From: david ritchie <ritchierd@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
- Date: Sat, 17 Dec 2005 23:11:14 -0800
With the electricity supply uncertain,
a storm whistling in,
ice already in view,
a solstice celebration expecting me to read,
I rush to tap out these supplementary lines,
to finish what before first light I hacked
and hewed.
It was a wild shoppers' erring aim--
a lady of a certain age
careening through a parking lot
in her S.U.V.
suddenly came at me
driving in my lane,
a damsel lost in lists,
holding at arm's length her phone,
trying to read the number--
who drove me to seek sanctuary at that sausage place.
By country and western tunes, sung in German,
I was then transported back to the land of campsites and
Bader Meinhof, Willi Brandt, Kurt Hahn,
where once there was a girl,
hot pants,
dancing.
I remember going swimming and
suddenly shrinking from a friend's dad's wound;
the tear of shrapnel from the eastern front,
had almost cut him in half.
I remember his boys eating more watermelon than anyone ever could.
Unlimited soda.
"Making hikes,"
among glorious granite peaks.
Since I brought no book,
bratwurst, potato salad and a glass of Spaten,
were accompanied by my silent scan of kitsch
and souvenirs.
They had gluhwein and Armenian wine,
"Vampire" brand Romanian stuff,
steins of all kinds,
discounted pewter saints,
a full line of meats,
Hit biscuits.
I bought a case of Tucher.
The ladies ordering offal in their native tongue,
checked one another
for incipient signs of disorder.
I left Alice
in ordnung,
headed home.
David Ritchie
Portland, Oregon
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