Drawing

Drawing

I still think back to the summer before last

When I did a drawing called “Overcast.”

In Oregon’s early coastal morning

Sliding, driving, yawning, longing

For some bacon at a diner I find

The plump blond waitress comes around

With a menu and I order home fries

And a muffin, bacon on the side

I leave her a good tip and nod at the couple

Across the aisle eating grits she supple

Him very thin their motorbike leaning

On a stand; back in the rental car, careening

Left and right, empty row

Of curb leading to Tom’s studio,

Almost alone, the old part of town empty,

The car we call pimpmobile parks by

An old tree, the studio cold

My work yet to be done, untold

Far away from home a bit confused

I wash my hands close my eyes find the muse

One called The Ladder, and one very small

With squiggles like sperm called “Embryos”

And then there’s “Overcast,” with hues

Or rather splats of wet pastel I’ve never seen

Before and I’ll fly home and  I’ll wonder where I’ve been.