I published a poem in the school literature book in 3rd grade.
I jotted it on a piece of paper during lunch hour. It describes the way someone feels when they are getting stared at. I used the same free form bullshit I’m spewing now but I’m pretty sure it rhymed. As with all my work, the title introduces the piece so we don’t have to waste time with context.
In the final printing of the book my poem The Stare is titled The Stove. It still kinda worked. At least, everyone said they got it. Whatever. I wish that boy would just talk to me.
I’m at the P&H enjoying the unwitting company of strangers. Mosquitoes finding me inside the bar. Shadows walking up on my left. Passing me by, most every time. Nothing can really phase me once I’m sliced open. The shock alone grants me an amiable demeanor.
Music has a way of smoothing over every situation. Next stop, Dave Cousar at the Buccaneer.
