the advantages of working with your hands: a different sort of naturalist's hx

I.

the best thing about working
all day out on the lawn

is that you come back
smelling
 
like snake
like lizard
like chameleon
like earth and wind 

II.

you hear something rumbling in your garage
thinking it's some sort of fox or raccoon
and turns out it's a penguin rummaging
through leftover books of psychology 
and ask him what the hell he's doing
and how the heck he even got in there

he calmly answers he's looking
for specific jung and otto rank
and tells me as well he's sick
of fighting certain stereotypes
trying to find and figure out

life and what's going on
 
and do not hesitate to respond
that i couldn't agree more
then simply lower my head
letting him do whatever
need be done

III.

you start to think of hemingway
and wonder why at the end of days
fighting fish or bull or elephant or prey 
he always felt the need to simply drink carafes
of red wine or absinthe or grappa and think why not

tall foggy glasses of orange soda on ice gathered around tables
and cafes exchanging war stories over tall cups of orange soda on ice
 
you start to think of steinbeck
and that you are so far from
seems like ages ago
cannery row

and what the hell happened
and where the heck's
winesburg, ohio?

IV.

when you used to fall asleep
at the jack london out
in portland, oregon

a 20-year old runaway
from brooklyn; strong,
stoic, not an ounce
of fat on your body
 
all you used to hear
you swear over your
pawnshop radio was--
 

"in the jungle
the mighty jungle
the lion sleeps tonight..."
 
 
V.
 
(and know it's really only the seconds
the minutes, the days, the hours
that will kill you, the routines

and rituals, and similarly 
only sights and sounds
and smells of nature too 
that can possibly heal you)

VI.

you suspiciously sneak around the house
moving your hands in a circular motion
throwing out karate chops like cluseau
remembering the dream from the night
before having discovered bukowski 
neatly stashed between broken
off mattress springs

rain finally comes down and you
at last don't feel quite so alone
 
 
VII.
 
then woodpeckers
and gulping frogs


(spent most of summer swear to god

looking out my rearview and noticing
them holding on for dear life with
jowls flapping in the wind and think
there is no finer or kinder specimen)

 
helping helpless turtles
across the road
scuttling off

through brush
of the dunes
to the ocean

your wife and naked child
standing in the window
watching rabbits
 
scamper back and forth
across the lawn

playing games
 
of freeze tag
at sundown.

Back to issue one