Crazy Jeanne and Other Spiritual Matters

The way you fling through
dapple grey days
on Ericson’s skateboard,
or roll down
moon stubble fields
on your way to dinner
at Torrey’s restaurant,

chuckles me
or awe

as if I were small at the ocean,
standing damp in sun fog.
The rush and suck at boulders
with black cave voices
swallowing me,
until I am afraid I may go out
altogether.

Instead,
Father carries me piggyback
to a fire with hotdogs
and marshmallows with
soft warm centers.

God
I’ll never get enlightened this way.

Published in the first letter of poetry
of the Moonday Nite Press,
copyright May 1978