Twentieth Entry

It's my bicentennial! Not really. But I still wish Gerald Ford was here.

Missed two good readings last night because I couldn't accurately figure out how to get to either of them. Oh poop.

Here's my poem:

BRIDE OF BRONTOSAURUS

I walk alone at no particular pace.
Walk or swim in the lakes rain has made from its tracks.
Or breathe in the pollen and sneeze it back out for fun.
Breathe, I tell myself, seeing the brontosaurus for the first time in weeks.
I look over my shoulder in case someone is watching me like I’m watching her.
Look at all the things I used to think were dinosaurs; mostly trees and buildings.
At the top of the building, the dinosaur’s body looks big and nervous.
The feeling I get when my hands shake from hunger or I don’t know why.
Feeling funny, the brontosaurus hunter has to regularly examine his motives.
Funny how little I know about dinosaurs I have hazily skulked after for years.
How could I possibly stop? Or lose her trail? Sometimes my choice is obvious.
Could I have been happier with someone else? Yes. But that someone never came.
I waited all month in the parking lot for her and now look at me.
Waited behind a wall like when the brontosaurus’s monolithic neck would turn my way.
Behind me are all the empty apartments and all the things my parents don’t know about.
Me with my useless binoculars and elephant gun just standing there.
With my quarry I shudder and stomp my enormous footprints about.
My heart is light, my eyes forward with no regrets.
Heart? That is an extinct species, they say, that used to roam the earth.
That booming sound is not feet in the distance but far within my own chest.