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.
Copyright © Francis Brown | Year Posted 2020