Archive 07/09/09

   

Lettuce, Tomatoes, and Croutons

                                                                  

At 11:00, in Lake Nebagamon, Wisconsin,

A sixty-degree Thursday a.m.,

I'd just completed the stowing of my estate,

The closing up of my cabin,

Preparing to fly back to super-humid St. Louis,

And I was savoring my organic salad

(Lettuce, tomatoes, and croutons).

 

Now, it's 7:30 p.m., the same Thursday,

And I'm in an anonymous restaurant, alone,

Far away from the lake's waters,

Which have become the marrow in my spirit,

The blood rushing through my soul,

And as if nothing has changed,

I'm eating lettuce, tomatoes, and croutons.

 

But I'm not happy with my salad;

It's just not the same.

A vast dissatisfaction exists.

Melancholy has inundated my psyche,

Knowing that when I awaken, tomorrow,

Lake Nebagamon's ripples won't find me —

The guy who keeps trying to escape his fate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

07/09/09

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
       

 

  
   
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