word-poem: scansion


Notes on breakfast at Shari’s

It’s a little bit cheesy
as if certainty is capricious at a short booth

whereas what I want is whole wheat bread
and dread hash

that is not quite brown
somewhere where everything is not all 86’d

this Western omelet served on a huge plate
so that at first you don’t think

but death comes finished or ready
here in Seattle, I’ve learned to expect good coffee

and marionberry jam just as I would wait on
grits and country ham at the Golden Corral in Tallahassee

waiting, I read poems of Norma Cole
consider new forms out of old forms of scansion

all of the anticipation has been burnt
out of me by my itinerancy and the terrible sameness

when I’ve hardly moved at all in my mind
if you don’t count those 61 trips around the sun

and the flashing speed of life in a third-world
universe, listening to country music

suits everyone just fine
we all know that we live in a country

even if we try not to
whatever you do, you are not the only one

ever, even imagining being the last woman
on the planet cannot be done alone. It’s like

trying to read 17 books at one go of it
and it’s still my plan to to re-read classics like

Shikasta & Stranger in a Strange Land & A Scanner Darkly
since everything I became grew out of science

and fiction. And poetry.
I didn’t finish the omelet, but it was pretty good.

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