Things We Take for Granted
full stomachs, or even half-full, to begin with. They
keep your vessel warm, give you
bowel movements (without bowel movements
you'll die).
the lining inside your Levi's jeans. Grayscale
designs with stars and automobiles etched
from a rugged western antiquity.
Have you ever noticed it?
students who used your textbook before you did.
Knowing that someone suffered through
your mind-numbing physics class, too (the
phallus on pg. 87 is a surprise worth a chuckle).
obscure colors, like chartreuse.
the remnants of the last snow of the year. Stacked
and tarnished on jet black asphalt, grossly
out of place, but it can cool your summer
heart before you combust.
a vast karaoke repertoire in redneck taverns. Just when
you start resting your lungs for a Charlie
Daniels' song, you come across Radiohead,
thank god, and command the stage.
the breaths you take in between kisses. Like when
we brushed lips beneath a naked maple
in January (you uttered the "L" word to me
without thinking, then kissed me again).
Indo-European languages.
I laughed at the third stanza. I collect all editions of a composition book re-released from 1854 to about 1885 by a man named...are you ready for it...G.P. Quackenbos. He's an awful bore, as you might expect from his name. But I don't collect them because HE was brilliant. I collect them for all the things students wrote in the margins...phew! Mercy! And I thought the second half of the 19th century was staid and conservative.
ReplyDeleteCongratulations :)
ReplyDeleteAlso, I dig this poem.
you make this look easy, bro.
ReplyDelete