Stephen Dobyns

My stepdaughter and I circle round and round.
You see, I like the music loud, the speakers
throbbing, jam-packing the room with sound whether
Bach or rock and roll, the volume cranked up so
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Over a cup of coffee or sitting on a park bench or
walking the dog, he would recall some incident
from his youth—nothing significant—climbing a tree
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These are the first days of fall. The wind
at evening smells of roads still to be traveled,
while the sound of leaves blowing across the lawns
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Each thing I do I rush through so I can do
something else. In such a way do the days pass—
a blend of stock car racing and the never
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Waking, I look at you sleeping beside me.
It is early and the baby in her crib
has begun her conversation with the gods
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A man tears a chunk of bread off the brown loaf,
then wipes the gravy from his plate. Around him
at the long table, friends fill their mouths
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How smart is smart? thinks Heart. Is smart
what's in the brain or the size of the container?
What do I know about what I do not know?
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Heart's friend Greasy gets nixed by a stroke.
His pals give him a wake; they drink all night.
The next day they cart the coffin to the church.
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A record store on Wabash was where
I bought my first album. I was a freshman
in college and played the record in my room
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At the edge of a golf course, a man watches
geese land on a pond, the bottom of which
is spotted with white golf balls. It is October
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Because his wife refused to miss a dress fitting,
she missed his death instead. He painted to the last,
a portrait in profile of his gardener sitting
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How calm is the spring evening, and the water
barely a ripple. My son stands at the edge
tossing in pebbles, then jumping back. He knows
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My stepdaughter is three and we have some games
we play when she gets back from day care and I
have finished my work for the day. In one game,
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'I have begun to think,' he wrote in a late letter,
'that one cannot help others at all.' This
from a man who once called friendship the highest
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Trying to remember you
is like carrying water
in my hands a long distance
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The girls he followed down the street, the heartbreaks
he pretended to suffer, the giddy letters he wrote
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The heavy lidded enterprise of the dead
begins with forgetting, ends with forgotten.
Like smoke, so thick at first but higher
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Life begins, you make some friends,
what futures you plan for one another.
No failures here, no one sent to prison.
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Jesus agreed to send out for Chinese.
Styrofoam containers were placed before
the Disciples. All received two egg rolls.
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Four fellows in orange uniforms
and a fifth in a dismal suit play
pickup soccer in the street. It's their
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