Who said there is no such thing as a coincidence? 'T'were not moi, but
I believe it.
AN ELEGY: AMOR Y PESETAS, Y TIEMPO PARA GUSTARLAS
1
Seven years ago I came to this place where
the Atlantic, on unquiet mornings, autistic and
enraged, hammers madly against the beach.
"The ocean gods," we say, "are angry."
In hurricane season basements flood,
hot water is lost, first anger then a shrug,
we all sound like Hyman Roth in Godfather 2:
"This is the life we've chosen."
It was--remains now--the edge of the world.
The next stop going East is Ireland or the Canaries.
There is south, north, west. Not here.
You must get there from here.
2
Shall I miss this when I go? even the wind
across the Shore peninsula on winter days
could disembowel you, this crosswind between
the ocean and the estuary 300 feet away.
It reminds me of high school, reading Siegfried Sassoon's
"Does It Matter?"--walking the dog in the no man's land of nightwind
then coming in to gobble not muffins and eggs
but to wrap hands around a hot tea mug.
Now there is no shelter.
Feeling, whatever remains, subsumes in money,
for the gods of taxes and utilities are angry too
and there is no room in the house or heart
for the careless or unlucky.
"Care-less" is done. Everything is care,
love alchemizes to commodity,
and we've done nothing for each other lately
save pave the way for the short and polite farewell
while I pack the car, don't help me please,
I'll be back from the music and the cat.
KTW/1-17-07
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Ken Wolman andreachenier.net rainermaria.typepad.com
DO NOT ADJUST YOUR MIND: IT IS REALITY THAT IS MALFUNCTIONING
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