This poem is about what I think it would be like to meet Buddy Wakefield for coffee.
I can see it clicking behind his eyes
waiting for a spark
As I look at him
tracing the rim of the glass with my finger
I can see words running over the edge and
drowning in his coffee.
He looks up from his coffee at me
and widens his eyes,
“This whole world is going to get you
it’s like when you’re a kid and you believe that you can fly
so you take that bounding leap from the sofa
and suddenly realize that
the air doesn’t have arms.”
“and that you don’t have wings”