Errant and Trailing

These things are worthy of obsessive attention, of having a life built around them.

The Douglas Anderson Writer’s Festival 2012

   I drank coffee beforehand. I drove my truck. The parking lot was empty. Campus was empty. I thought that odd. Then, high school students. Tons of them. I felt odd. But this was expected. One looked much older. She wasn’t. I yelled across the room. This was the first workshop. We read poems. It was like acting. Then, the second workshop. Pretentious children, wall-to-wall. We did a skit. This was acting. They provided lunch. I ate alone. I was comfortable, but lonely. Couldn’t find coffee. Saw your son. Sat down for a bit. Sweet kid.

   Margaret was comfortable. You were nervous. She saw this. She toyed with you. I didn’t like that. I would have too, though. She scares me. Margaret read student’s work. She has great restraint. Peter Meinke is too normal. More normal than anyone. Pretty poems, though. Then I went surfing. I wondered about information availability. It’s infinite. Is it too much? One thing, then move on. Ten things, then move on. I’m thinking digestion is key. One thing, then sit. Break it down. Soak it up.

  • 25 April 2012
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