Dream Song 111: I miss him. When I get back to camp
I miss him.
When I get back to camp
I'll dig him up.
Well, he can prop & watch,
can't he, pink or blue,
and I will talk to him.
I miss him.
Slams,
grand or any, aren't for the tundra much.
One face-card will do.
It's marvellous how four sit down—beyond
my thought how many tables sometimes are
in forgotten clubs
across & down the world.
Your fever conned
us, pal.
Will it work out, my solitaire?
The blubber's safe in the tubs,
the dogs are still, & all's well .
.
.
nine long times
I loosed & buried.
Then I shot him dead.
I don't remember why.
The Captain of the supply ship, playing for dimes,
thinks I killed him.
The black cards are red
and where's the others? I—
Poem by
John Berryman
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