day 5 and 6

day 5 and 6

not one cigarette
in 6 days

3 in the morning

I reach into the
the cauldron
that sits on this neck
and stir
a tired brain
for a poem

there is lukewarm broth
and bits of memory
of a kid
I suddenly recall
from high school
who had a feathered
haircut
freckles
wore lots of flannels
chewed tobacco,
he hunted and he
hated black people

he sat next to me
in biology

I just barely remember
the teacher
giving me advice
about training a puppy
because I had gotten one that year
a dog that is still alive
and lives with my parents
old with arthritis
she limps and wags a crooked tail
then she was small
very small
and pissed everywhere

to think
at the time
that was a big part of
my world
5 days a week
for about a year
that teacher and that kid next to me
now
its reduced to
about five minutes
worth of images
now it is like an old rug

I see some shapes
but the edges become
strands loose
long loose strands
some have
weaved into the
the many different rugs
along the way
like patchwork

I move
the dog moves

I stand here now
it’s hard to believe I was not always here
doesn’t it seem that way?

when you change and age?
doesn’t it seem
like you were here already
waiting for you?