Ravens play in snow. I deserve a some inner sanctum time.

A school kid, I’d press hard into my paper,


sometimes engraving

the soft wood beneath. Not much


has changed. Clock above the cabinets.

Smell of burnt wood splints. Bunsen


burners. Mr. Williams rubbing his fingers

over his forehead. Carcass of a dissected


mink. The smell. Sun a communion disk

through winter clouds. I’d walk home


swinging my black cornet case crammed

with evening’s homework. Folder


full of sheet music. I’d stop for a bottle

of green soda or, Thursdays, my lesson


at Southtown, canyon

of amplifiers, Gibson SG’s: hanged men.


Played “My-Mama-a-Told-Me,”

theme from “The Godfather”


for Louie Cattarucci, maestro and former

drummer for Captain Beefheart. The Ravens


visit Thailand, look at each other quizzically.

Tower of London, The Ravens wear blue


bands on their legs. Julie

looks at the television through her yellow


Ranger Rick binoculars. Sunday evening,

work tomorrow, and I don’t know what pain


reliever to take. A life rich in detail—

dirty snow, worn rubber, oil, exhaust


and ice, a cocktail the bullies loved to wash

one’s face in, cornet case thrown in a slushy


drift, traffic crowing and Louie smoking

calmly, watching from his storefront window.


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