never believed I'd one day become an old fart who seriously cared about things like
Weather
and
Poetry.
But:
Here 'tis.
I wish I had met William Carlos Williams in Paterson, New Jersey,
Because that's a different kind of hell, where he was a physician,
And now is famous for eating plums his wife had put in the refrigerator
The night before he had come in late, after house calls.
And somewhere in his mind there was a little Larry Fike,
Similar but different from the Little Larry Fike in my own,
Who toddles and turns corners and looks for, "Daddy."
Boney-nosed, he saw placements on pages
As the essence of poetry and,
Being a physician,
Carved. Healed.
Placement is everything.
Wouldn't it be, if you were a medical doctor, one
Who handled peoples' organs, pulses in your fingertips as you cut
tried to make things better.
How could you not care about where things actually go.
Lawrence Udell Fike, Jr., Temecula, California, July 31, 2011, 7:02 a.m.
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