Down the river chickens are
streaming —
large chickens with knobbly
veins.
They have a trick of catching
the current,
racing along. The man who
owns the chickens
rides with them, the current so strong
he’s injured — a
herniated testicle —
sounds painful, but we don’t
like him, so we’re glad.
In my dream, as always, I’m
young.
I wake up an old lady, struggle
to dress
because the bed’s too high, my
balance bad —
I’d sit on the floor but that’s beneath me.
I’m not sure I’m in love any
longer —
I don’t feel surges or urges.
Mostly I want things tidy &
I want to be left alone,
to go whaling in Patagonia,
birding in Ecuador,
to ride my bicycle down Center
Street in Santa Cruz.
If I brought Tova to Esalen we’d
go to the hot spring baths.
She’s three, old enough to
find the nudity surprising —
her people wear clothes
though they haven’t always,
her daddy for sure
spent his second summer naked
including a week on a public
beach with his naked brother
& mother & her
boyfriend.
Two men threatened us at one
point, but Steve had a knife too.
A man, his wife & donkey
stared —
Whose children are they?
Surely not yours. Your breasts are too small.
— 10 August 2013
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