This poem has been published in the 2010 Suisun Valley Review.
In The Park, The Very Old
Man, stiff round globe head
hairspill down from Arctic circle
that spins in wind, fears combs
Woman made of bear leather
fingers are guitar wires
snapping ferociously
until young Gabe maybe Autistic
little glasses and pinchy
face turned slantways
approached. What are you playing? Gabe asked
What song is that you’re playing?
those two upthrusts of basalt from old time
peered at fluffed up hoot owl Gabe maybe Autistic maybe
the earthquake that made them
