Dave’s first poem

Brother Gary

 

In Oregon

Sitting by my deep green

swimming hole

in Lookout Creek on a coldish evening,

Drinking my Lagunitas and

reading Gary Snyder

(No Nature),

I am the perfect hipster.

I even try to write a poem, my first

It goes like this:

 

A net of mist

Almost indistinguishable from

smoke

rises

past Douglas firs

up the valley

to join its brethren

the clouds

 

Not bad, I think

For a beginner.

Then after another sip of IPA

I decide to cut

its brethren.