Invocation

Like many poets, I at least partly believe in the Muse. I certainly cannot always explain where the images, phrases, or sometimes even entire poems come from. It often feels as if I am taking a sort of silent dictation. In any case, here's my Invocation of the Muse, done up country'n'western style.

Many thanks to my dear friend and fellow poet Moira Egan for prompting this line of thought a couple of years ago over late-night eggs and coffee in the Tastee Diner in Bethesda, MD, after a reading. You should buy her book Cleave. If you can't find it in a bookstore, it's available through Amazon.

Appeal

Everybody knows where
you go when you
go downtown
when the rain comes
down just enough
to wet the ground
and spatter the glass
in front of the neon
beer sign. One
of those dark holes
in the city lights
a side street off
one of the better
avenues one of
those places where
everybody is baby
or sugar to those
few that is who
bother to look up
when someone comes
in. Everybody knows
you go straight
to the jukebox
and drop in a
fistful of quarters
and stand there waiting
in the blue-green light
to dance with any
man who asks or
for that matter
any woman.

November 3, 2005