Thursday Night / hq

Ladies and Gentlemen,
Fawns and kids…
step children of forlorn mountain snakes
and hep-cats to boot–those from one to ninety-two
and lifelong bingo players–
nomadic tumblers, too scattered for identification
and the sky blue collars with their grinding nostrils.
Weeblos, boyscouts, pollywogs and mutton busters,
may you survive real fit like.
When you form the words, tell your pappy how you feel.
Thank that sweet limbed mama from head-to-toe
with ripples upon ripples of dust to show–
then engulf yourself by the light of your own moon–
be it wax-filled, wayne-brained, or simply a days’ work
bent crescent and completely accomplished.
very who knew
all the way
were Catskills.