How I Remember Maine

a vulgar morning unveiling the naked fragrance of sun-burnt dog turds. It came to me, played tunes on the cords in my nostrils until my left eye caught them hiding by the roots of loblolly pines. The poor trees, their trunks still wet where about two bladders were emptied at daybreak. The turds, seared like good scallops, made me think of Bangor and Lewiston; I saw a big woman beat two conches to make a salad. I am no ordinary man; twenty heads of cows made me think of a fleet of oilers & tankers. I saw a Jew in a shtreimel, I thought of Presque Isle where the sun stayed in my hair except at night when the earth turned away.