A Bob Sighting--In The Wild

I can't believe that I forgot to tell you on Saturday, but Friday night I saw Bob, Writer Bob not Yard Bob, at Friday Night Knitting. For those not "in the know" Bob and I went to high school together and then reconnected through writing. He was in my writing group for a few years and one glorious summer he cut my lawn for me (hence the differentiation of his Bob-ness), but then he got a new job that required him to work in the evenings and he acquired a new sweetheart (with whom he has developed a very successful program for Alzheimer's patients) so he left the writing group. *sigh* There has been a lot less Bob in my life since then, but last Friday Bob's brother Brian was the host of Open Mic night at Harmony Cafe (where I knit with friends on Friday nights) and when we went out to listen to Em's friend sing, there he was. He had his little notebook with his tiny writing in it and he was planning to read a couple poems but time ran out, so I asked him to read them to me. They were lovely. I especially liked the one about the last day of the Farmer's Market. He had really captured the sky and the rain and the movement of the people on that final day of summer produce. I like Bob and I was very glad to see him again.

It's damned cold today, cold and sunny. After the blizzard of the last couple days the mercury has fallen into the basement, the sub-basement at night. Temps are supposed to rocket into the mid-teens today, so I'll be wearing my thickest longies, socks, and sweaters, with chemical heater pads in my boots. I might even wear gloves indoors, or at least my wool fingerless mitts. Watch, it'll be busy at the dive shop. When the weather was tolerable, nobody came. Now that it's unbearably cold with hip-deep snow people will be out, you mark my words. Crazy.

December 12--Angra do Reis, Brazil.

Arrowheads of boats
white on the turquoise sea
point into the surge
like so many
compass needles.

Green Brillo pads
of palms and sea grape
carpet the island
promising respite,
delivering humidity
and mosquitoes.

White gash of sand
between sea and jungle
where tourists sizzle
like meat on a spit.

Vacation.


I was inspired by Bob's poetry to commit a bit of verse last night. Bundle up! And don't forget a hat.
--Barbara