Porch Dreams

Fading from the din
of city cars, truck routes
and suburban garbage can lids.
Drunken yelling from the teens
across the park…fading.

Crickets create the white noise,
joins creak of the guitar case hinges
dust free flattop glows
by the porch light.

Songs – nay - the “set list”
Thirty Years of Farming
Carmelita
Time to Get a Gun

Laughter, and cheers and more join in.
Three train songs echo over the field
across the creek, slips through the trees.
miles from the rows of porchless houses.

Close the Fucking Door

path is beaten
icy, to the shed
open the door
hit by a wave of heat
"close the fucking door"
is my greeting
guitars ring
fists bang
beat on the flat top
Pat is drumming hard
snare snapping
high hat crashes
to the floor
howl laughing
sweat flies
beers spills
smoke flows out
the cracks
heat pumps, logs
added to the stove
five voices sing
a massed chorus of
"Fifty Mission Cap"
"close the fucking door"
is yelled again
as I snag the coldest beer
on the planet
from the snow

Small Town Walk

walking
street to street
from party to party
ask around
to find the best one
"it is at Mikes"
"which Mike?"
"Tall Mike"
15 minutes, or less
with the big striding
small town walk
my campfire girl says:
"slow down
you walk too fast"

1988

us boys
walking the streets
big striding
in jeans n'plaid shirts
shot the knees out clean
with pellet guns
ragged, rock n'roll

Tragically Hip tape
humming, hissing, in the deck
"Blow at High Dough"
our anthem
got everybody singing
hollering every word
with our best Gordie voice

drive out some
dusty dark country road
to party in a field
pretty girls, faces lit
with campfire glow
sipping beers,
catching her smiles

bottles pile
fire burns low
time to go
getaway before
drunken fists swings
to ruin the perfect
smalltown night

Winter 5.0

little deeper in the woods today
out as far as the valley
deer runs across the open
jumps the fence
back into the forest

16 wild turkeys
black and huge
move along
the frozen creek

makes me think of whiskey

Winter 4.0

snow steady for four days
wind whips around the house
piling, drifting
shovel bends with the weight
back aches, sweat freezes