This is a poem.
I went to take my oldest son to buy a pair of shoes.
And you know I think that we often, I
know that, for instance my nephews and nieces,
I think that they're all 12 and 13 years old still
and many of them are married.
But there's something in us that stays our best
self, which is often around 23.
Anyway, I took my son to buy a pair of shoes.
And do you know how they have mirrors down
at the bottom and shoe stores so that you
can see the shoes I suppose?
Well, my son and I sat down and I glanced up quickly
into that mirror, and there was a middle aged woman
sitting with my son.
And I was shocked.
Who was this woman with my boy?
Anyway, I got so depressed I did not
buy the shoes which he didn't understand at all,
and I went home and I wrote a poem.
There is a girl inside.
She is randy as a wolf.
She will not walk away and leave these bones to an old woman.
She is a green tree in a forest of kindling.
She is a green girl in a used poet.
She has waited patient as a nun for the second coming when
she will break through gray hairs into blossom
and her lovers will harvest honey and time,
and the woods will be wild with the damn wonder of it.