[INAUDIBLE] I read from my father's text
when he was with my mother.
I can't leave him out because I said so in the poem.
I haven't had time to type this up.
Arizona is a very busy place.
I wrote this on the bus coming from Port Angeles to Seattle,
where I read the University of Washington there.
This is called "3:00 AM Kitchen, My Father Talking."
My father just retired this last year from his long sharing job,
and he's really having a hard time
knowing what to do with himself.
He plays a lot of cards down at the Shut Up Tavern.
But in the winter--
but for a man who's had a very physical life,
it's a really hard thing, retirement.
So he's been retired for about a year now.
And I went up--
I went downtown to pick him up after one
of these card games that lasted till 2:00 in the morning.
So he sat up with me until 6:00 in the morning.
We had this incredible talk.
And after it, I was really, really beat.
I just was emotionally wrecked too.
But I wanted to try and get his voice into this poem.
So it's written as though he were
speaking, although, of course, it's translated by me.
For years, it was land working me, oil fields, cotton fields.
Then I got some land.
I worked it.
I was logging.
Them days, you could just about make a living.
Then I sent to Missoura.
Mama come out.
We got married.
We got some kids, five kids that kept us going.
We bought some land near the water.
It was cheap then.
The water was right there.
You just looked out the window.
It never left the window.
I bought a boat, 14-footer.
There was fish out there then.
You remember.
We used to catch six, eight fish,
clean them right out in the yard.
I could have fished to China.
I quit the woods.
One day, I just walked out, took off my corks, and said,
that's it.
I went to the docks.
I was driving winch.
You had to watch to see nothing fell out of the sling.
If you killed somebody, you'd never forget it.
All those years when I was just working,
I was on edge every day just working.
You kids, I could tell you a lot, but I won't.
It's winter.
I play a lot of cards down at the tavern.
Your mother, I have to think of excuses
to get out of the house.
You're wasting your time, she says.
You're wasting your money.
You don't have no idea, Tracy.
I run out of things to work for.
Hell, why shouldn't I play cards?
Tracy, some days now, I just don't know why I'm living.