SO …
David Jure, Victoria
Volume 38 Issue 1, 2, & 3 | Posted: April 2, 2023
so, the field by the farm and the pumphouse gang.
was I the leader??? quietude and battle
bows and arrows and
errors in judgement.
Gave Bruce Anderson a black eye.
One afternoon we dammed the ditch by the farm
and another day, when I was in choir
I missed the showing of ‘We’re No Angels’
and wept bitterly because we were up in the backwards backwoods
talking about how much we loved
trees and I could no longer find that
spot,
or buy property, or drive
my car there,
but could search and search
and if you asked me to move to the towers of Vancouver
I would light a cigarette
and say, so
as I think I have met
the one,
Heather, unlikely maid marion…I’m getting on
be in a wheelchair soon, writing ghormenghastly powems
describing the area under the sink;
childhood smells.
but to return to that field.
why why why the spirit of competition.
Granny B’s porcelain cat
and dhreddies
and in the cereal tiny
plastic nuclear powered submarines
where you stuck baking soda up their ass
and they tootled around the bathtub
and one day when the sky was charged with rain
severely overcast
my rocks arrived from shreddies and
my mother and I glued them
onto a large piece of cardboard
and wrote names underneath; quartz
mica, feldspar, granite, foolsgold so much
to learn, so little time to solve
the mystery of creation
and sink like fool’s gold
under the green sea of patricia
David Jure, Victoria