Both Sides Now

You call my current crop
of poems grey.

Ah, but for the red accents.

Gestures of closure
unwittingly subverted
as I open doors to
Bukowski and Szymborska.

You travel in search of your
feminine roots (of course)
shrouded in herbal remedies
swill whiskey with devoted Thai boys
while I pioneer Men's Liberation
in five star Bangkok hotels.

We careen through Chiang Mai
alleys on a vintage bicycle
named Zeitgeist
light a joint
nervous like juveniles.

I admire your lack of intellectual
pretension as you dismiss
Harper's Magazine
its deteriorating oeuvre
lament Lapham's departure (who hasn't?)
while I confess chronic apathy
handing you my traveling copy
a half-read, six month old issue
one less item for the road.

-----

March 18, 2009