Poem for Dan
In a world of demands you found a way to live with your 9 to 5 for the state, and still do what you love, you even walk to work and turn a journey people dread to inspiration spewing poems into notebooks
as you stroll through Washington Park
at home you fill shoe boxes with your photos of unknown poets write poems about grandmothers your boots and the blues, sip bourbon to old Dexter Gordon tunes and honk your own sax while your ballerina daughter fills out college applications . . . . we’ve travelled thousands of miles done thousands of poems for audiences large and small some almost non-existent from full house at Nuyorican and Green Mill to the staff at the No Exit Cafe or a handful on the streets
of Hoosatonic Mass.
I see you clearly in all these places and more– an urban guy in black beret on the trails of Hawk Mountain or camping at Bread and Puppet
in a sport coat
. . .