I had left my computer at the office
So I decided I wouldn’t write tonight
I decided I would do something else
Like play with my children who swatted
At a wiffle ball or poked each other in the head
I wanted some of that, I guess
Really they love me and get really excited when I
Step onto the field.
It is the closest thing I have to a major league
Introduction
But I’m used to it.
I still hear that many poets
Tink away on their typewriter keys
Candle flickering, revealing a moonlit
Piano or a shine on the pond.
Geoffrey Nutter told me this.
Not the landscape or pond bit
But the way he writes,
With a typewriter.
I had only met him once and therefore
Had no reason to doubt him.
I never doubt anyone I have met only once.
That is my motto.
I suppose I don’t take my words
As seriously as someone striking
the delicate mechanism, with its
Inversions of darkness,
And smudges it shape like the edges
Of moth dust after I’ve swatted
It against the glass refrigerator
I feel sort of unlucky tonight
Like the sunset is going to be my last one
That I might just foul out.
That I’ve come up with a word
In a poem and nothing fits purely against it.
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