poem for Thursday…

The Wagon

I sat in the front seat,
she was driving.
On a small back road
we passed an Idaho farm.
Mostly dust now, and sparce brown grass.
There was a broken, withered wagon
abandoned in the front yard.
Now midday sun blasting the shadows out,
just gone in the brightness.
Every crack and busted plank
of that wagon was illuminated.

I saw myself in this.
Much older, wrinkled, grey.
Alone, but illuminated.

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About Pineapple

He tried to call himself, "Malibu." But, you know the rules - you don't get to pick your own nickname. The word "pineapple" came to mind. Sorta tropical, spikey & rough, sweet on the inside. And so a nickname was born. "Bike mechanic, poet, sage, former collegiate hockey star. Ok, maybe not a star." (This should really be updated. He works for New Belguim now.) "i am full time bicycle mechanic, and all around nice guy. like to ride bikes, but not very far. like poetry, candle-light dinners, and short walks on the beach. i don't like getting hassled, and i don't like capitalization." Fort Collins, Colorado, USA

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