Saturday, October 27, 2012

I Can't Remember, They're Just Names....

I Can't Remember, They're Just Names

I can’t remember, they’re just names
And I’m not tryin’ to change somebody’s mind
Got a little nit to pick
Couple tricks to try and I’ll be fine
Writin’ while I’m drivin’
It’s when I do the little thinkin' that I do
Caught here in the traffic
The only freedom of the road is solitude

Let's talk about this human stain,

Sad, sweet, short, conditional refrain
Follow all the rule of thumb
It all comes down to just one thing
An' if you’re the one a-listenin’
Why am I the one in pain?
Jus' how it's got to be
I don’t bother to explain

(And) Sometimes, if not always, it’s all me
If it’s your hat, why’s it hangin’ on my tree?
How you gonna walk a mile when the shoe don’t fit?
Take that trip and then you’ll see...

Maybe Rodney got it wrong
Can’t spin out when the give-a-damn’s gone red
Sometimes a curve is just a curve
And there’s a lighthouse in the cornfield up ahead
I know that you don’t care
Just in case, give it a wave before we’re dead
And I stopped meaning all that much
Just to keep the children fed

(And) Sometimes, if not always, it’s all me
If it’s your hat, why’s it hangin’ on my tree?
Hard to walk a mile when the shoe don't fit
Take that trip and then you’ll see...

I can't remember, they're just names
And I'm not tryin' to change somebody's mind

© Daniel Dain, 2006.

Sunday, October 07, 2012

I'll Come Back For You

I dig my way out of the scrum of stickers 
and begin my climb
I left the house, ostensibly to pick mushrooms, 
but failed in the attempt, as I found none 
after succumbing to the temptations of a 
new route, becoming tangled in a mess 
of these same stickers, and hampered by the 
slippery wet rocks at the bottom 
of the other end of the creek that 
runs along the back of the adjoining property,
I have to scramble my way back
onto the familiar territory
of the lower shelf of the ridge

I labor up the hill and almost miss
the two new falls of trees,
and it is strange to me, as I had been on that 
part of the trail only last Wednesday and I recall 
no storms that would have caused such damage
The lay of the land looks a little different, and 

here at fifty-two, I feel the mistrust of memory,
as if assailed by a long, slow attack of deja vu

It's after seven in the evening, and through the trees,
I barely see the ivory siding of our house,
and lug my overweight baggage through the shadows
up the path that feeds into the slope of our backyard,
past the tractor shed, the three-quarters full wood-shed
between the house and your studio, 
and up onto the back deck, where I take 
my muddy shoes and wet socks off
and leave them in the porch  

Entering, I catch  a whiff of the soup you have
simmering on the stove.  A bean mix, with bits of

herb from our garden, a little turkey sausage,
the ever-present and dangerous floating habenero,
a splash or two of wine
You claim you've been losing your hearing,
and there is some small evidence that it may be so
As I come up behind you, sitting at my office desk,
using my computer to grade papers,
I chuckle and touch your shoulder,
and still you do not turn
I lean in to sniff your hair, as I always do,
and I notice that you have not colored it,
and now I remember that I have come back 
for you a hundred times or more
I promised