31.7.12

salmon beer and horseshoes

Dear Dylan,
after liberal salmon, beer and horseshoes
we piled through a hole in the shipyard fence
and into the sherwood forrest looking
for dead trees to 1,2,3!
two of the captains with chainsaws
hanging, latent, from their unimposing muscular arms.

It was always a bad idea, but we made
it back to the fire-pit,
we deckhands trying
to impress each other with
the size of the firewood we carried.

(ripe, isn't it?)

now that the season is winding down
and most of the fish are already up the river,
the days aren't quite so long. I sometimes get more than six hours of sleep.
and there is finally a chance to get to know our campsite neighbors.

While my captain, and those with whom we tie up,
are the kind of men you pass in the grocery store,
the transient ones around these evening fires are not.
these are the salts that people imagine when i tell them
how i spend my summers. Who hold large white beards and always a bottle.
And who, en masse,
when they see a helicopter
will always bend and drop their pants.

the rest is personal and in the mail,
and i will see you soon.
I'm excited for one more year of
wagner, pasta, and hearing
D. More call Dr. Hahn
a prolific gardener.

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