“This strange thing must have crept
Right out of hell.”
—Charles Simic (from “Fork”)

One year ago today—
the last concert in Midway Stadium
before the wrecking ball.
Never mind that.

The first one drowns
in a swimming pool in Florida.
Last night, I see the last one
still checking out guitars

when not slinging his own.
And there were Tommys
playing all over town.
Never mind any of that.

Exactly, why not a fork?
How best to eat a cherry?
While they’re ripping up
the whole garden,

may as well add
an entire place setting.
A giant comes to dinner.
Send him into the yard.

So many one liners
to map out
those days and nights
in September

when it’s still summer
and everything cries out fall,

or never mind. My ears
ring the morning after.
Yes, Mr. Simic, my fist
remains “bald, beakless, and blind.”