Justin: In the Feast of Being Able to. Amen.

A Poet’s Day

I’m fond of late summer / early fall days like today. Cool, damp but not pouring, squirrels running around in yards, and the faint smell of fall in the air. I stepped out on the back loading dock mid-morning for a breath of fresh air, and I was overcome by the urgent need to be relaxed on my front porch in my hoodie, with laptop or tablet.

The days to come are what I think of as “stadium” weather; progressively more chilly and finally cold and breezy evenings where students gather in bleachers to watch football, or my case, to play with the band and pay attention to girls while mostly ignoring the game.

As the years roll by, the songs and the writings that move me have not changed greatly, nevertheless they have changed. My favorite song in 1989 is still my favorite song, and my favorite poet in 1989 is my favorite in 2011. But the singers of that favorite song are no longer my favorite artists, and my favorite poem has changed.

I will follow this post with that poem, though I imagine I am peeing at the ceiling fan by discussing poetry here. I once had a step-uncle with a gambling problem. He was “the uncle with the gambling problem.”

“…and that’s the uncle who reads poetry.”

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