I read these poems--
the first reading when my youngest son came to-- we
were living for the summer up in the mountains in New Hampshire.
And I had promised him after the reading
that we would go down to the town dump,
because there were supposed to be
black bears in the dump late in the evening.
And he wanted to look at a black bear.
And so we went down there.
And the gate was locked.
So we went to elaborate trouble, and climbed over the gate,
and walked in.
And there weren't any there.
And we were driving home.
And he said, I think I wrote a poem.
And I said, what is the poem?
He said, a night of July, going to the Franconia dump,
looking for bears.
Didn't see any.
[LAUGHTER]