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Rough Draft, Some Rougher Than Others




PICKUP


that pickup

that wondrous pickup

where a dark haired girl

and Jim gave me cocaine,

Oregon beer and a lift.

I had flown into Portland

and was hitchhiking to the coast;

I'd never seen the ocean.


It was blue

it was roiling white waves

on gray-tan beaches

it was right there.

Big window of the bar,

Jim's uncle's bar,

light fading fast.

I paid for whiskey.

We drank and I left to

run barefoot on the beach,

cold sand, cool water, stubbed

my toe. Laughing, bleeding.

Maybe they saw from the bar

I don't care

I taste salt

I am wet to my knees

I am hearing the ocean

in my brain

years later

a thousand miles inland

as snow falls on my

future grave.



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