How To Tell A Story

Forget Love and War…
find Ernest Hemingway
write about white elephants
memorize the way crows argue

high in eucalyptus trees
swaying leaves frantic “caw caw”
the smell of burnt tobacco and popcorn
in the distance a radio announcer

a leather ball cracks against hickory wood
the soft growl of lawn mower
there are always colors, red, orange, yellow
cold beer, cold bottle of beer here

peanuts…popcorn…peanuts…popcorn
now batting for the Minnesota Twins
number three Harmon Killebrew
stories start in the middle of the middle

the first thing Bonnie told Wilson
about 11:30 a.m. at the Circus Circus bar
was that she kept a loaded
.357 magnum under her pillow

stories need people like Carl
his blue tweed cap, the Krazy Kat button
just above the bill over his left eye
selling newspapers, scarf around his neck

cars jabberwocky on the lawn
a couple strolls among them
a white railing, the paint worn
meaning born within details

chipped the railing must be chipped
furniture gouges sudden, deep
we moved in two decades ago
two missing panes of blue glass

the sun rises red, orange, yellow
over the trees and the Johnson’s home
across the street, kids grew up
sounds changed slowly as wheels grew