Bio Note: I found James Tate's poetry in 1970 after my discharge from the Air Force at age 22. The Iowa poets helped me find my voice & my way back into society. I have one book and numerous poems published in small presses. I am a retired addictions therapist. I worked at the VA for 7 years. I also worked at the AZ State Prison with inmates with addiction histories.
He could be anybody now. Maybe not you or me, but just about anybody else after the tornado filched his wallet, the only picture of himself, gone. He was nobody he could think of after that until a working girl called him, “Sailor.” He watches the wind now whip & ripple the sails, lift sea spray & foam into the whirl of the sky. He feels blessed; the wind itself, the breath of the world, the bellow in his chest, is everywhere unseen.
Riding in a Convertible
I didn’t have my glasses on so I didn’t hear you clearly & the wind, it fluttered your words like the sudden rise of pigeons in a public square while others flittered past me like hummingbirds. You asked again, more loudly, if it was too windy in the back seat & I could see your mouth, your Vaselined lips framing your voice, in the rear view mirror & I shouted, my glasses were off because they were loose & I didn’t want them blown off my face & no, not too windy at all.
You Are Here
Soon there will be more tattoos on the planet than people, more ink on skin than on paper. We are already reading each other more than books or newspapers. I am thinking of having X you are here in blood red ink inscribed directly over my heart. I am thinking if I indelibly mark the spot, & leave a permanent note to myself, I will not look for you somewhere else.
©2020 Mike Casetta
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