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
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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 COMMENT

  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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