Thursday, July 05, 2007

Lunch Poem

It is perhaps apt
that on the
day / after
Independence Day
& the first day for
several weeks that
the streets have
been empty of
US servicemen

I should end up
sharing the side-
walk space outside
the sandwich shop
with someone who
is the splitting
— spitting? —
image of
Abraham Lincoln.

Tall, Calvinist up-
right despite his
age, chiseled face
Rushmoreing from
beneath a giftshop
drover’s hat, sun-
tanned enough to be
from around these
parts, in polo shirt &
shorts & sandals
that show he isn’t,

he comes bearing
not the Gettysburg
Address but a
handful of tourist
guidebooks that
track the end of
a life that could
quite easily have
started four score
& seven years ago.


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