I make collard green rollups with avocado,
carrots julienne, tofurky, and Sriracha—
sliced on the diagonal. I forget whether
he writes or paints his poems these days.

He declares art is a perched walnut
then launches a story about squirrels—
enough to make Dostoyevsky blush.

We drink lime water from canning jars.
The cat curls in his lap, its tail flitting
like a broken windshield wiper as he

tells a winding story of Two-Finger John
at the riverbed. We watch the sun die
behind the grove—always a good ending
for lunch. Rexroth sleeps in the car.


Forum Comments:Kenneth Patchen Comes to Lunch
Image Credit:Lovelorn Poets
Tracy Mitchell is a Minnesota-based occasional writer, inspired primarily by his surroundings and the vagaries of this frail and transitory life. He keeps a digital recorder close for notes of ice, weasels, and the unexpected sun dog, all of which try to elbow their way into his work.


  1. Moved by the whimsy of your piece, Tracy. Curious about the Dostoyevsky/squirrel reference. He is among my all time favourite authors!

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