Cooloer Nights

Was there a tree house? Did we somehow get beer by the case? I assume I made most of this up. A fiction. I seem to remember running down to the beach in his father's sport's car, the first time I'd gone over a hundred miles an hour. I can't remember his name, he went on to some fame on the small track circuit. Fried mullet and hush-puppies, sweet slaw and garlic bread. Terry? The Elks Club, or The Eagles, someone always had a fish-fry at whatever event. Drag racing and a half-mile oval, or a swap-meet with a Demolition Derby. It was all so loud that by the time I was in college, a year or two into professional theater, I preferred to stay home and read. I still prefer to stay home and read. John Barth was a revelation, then Gaddis and Coover, then I met Glenn, who also read, and we'd talk about things we'd read. I started printing books and met strange poets. The rest, as they say, is mystery. Dawn breaks, fifty years later, you're splitting kindling, kneeling to the east; none of the sundry gods mean a fucking thing, they don't signify. Brown a steamed potato and fry an egg. Beans on toast. Goddamn Whip-O-Wills. Read through the morning, trying to finish a couple of things so I can put some books away. Quick trip to town, to get the makings for a stir-fry to see me through the weekend. Stopped for a bowl of soup and a beer, and Dr. John, former music and education professor, sat next to me. He gave me a quarter, which he always does, then he bought me another beer, and Cory had given me the first- pour glass of stout. John and I talked about sorghum syrup, on which he is expert, killing and curing pork, and the various manifestations of racism. He's almost as liberal as I am. Jesse, at the liquor store in Kroger, said he'd like to come out sometime. He knows about where I live, everyone knows about where I live, but even Google Earth fails, now that the driveway is canopied, and the green metal roof hardly shows at all, unless you know exactly where to look. Hot Italian sausage was on sale, so I got that for the stir-fry; and a large plain yogurt, which I find to be the perfect medium for canned blackberries. Then, on the way home, I saw some nice puff-balls and stopped to ask the land-owner if I could pick them. She was delighted I wanted them, made sweet tea while I pan-fried one for her dinner. Like slabs of tofu, they don't taste like much, but you can add anything to them. They'll be good with the sausage. A change at the library, a perky new person who seems to be running things. Cardigan sweaters, short blond pony-tail, I mean come on, is someone filming this?