Craver

Craver

After some party of suffocating

convo, drunk or something,

found myself in your parking lot.

Yo, as night manager

at that Quarterpath Inn, y'all set me

up with a room that night

when I was beat. Now I'm reading

The Mountain in the Sea and thought

of you —been over twenty

years since I last spoke to you—

reminiscing about things…

I live a few miles

from where writers we loved

lived —I still can't imagine

you gone as well.

Remember you in Vienna

rescuing Dan and me

when we were trying to hoist

that I-beam into a crawlspace?

Don't know what we were thinking.

You just chuckled.

Today I don't know why

I'm worried about all

this stuff, this goings on—

the bona fides rehearsed—

the pervasive environment

around and within us

summed up as widespread.

Folks avoid needy people

who impinge on folks,

but not you, confidant of opposites,

confident of well being—

still can't recall whether you

ever called your bike a hog.

[narrative]