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ago, so long. by gary crockett

tape recordings of the day

we took a bus to monterey, won’t even play,
whatever you say

and all my savings have been spent
on telephone calls and weekly rent
now heaven sent

the window frame has jammed again
probably in consequence of the rain
or so they claim

the back verandah is I’m told
hidden somewhere under mould, and marigolds
out on parole

and even with Columbus on
no ship could sail upon
this green linoleum
sea of crumbs

the cupboard doors we leant upon
where the masonite is lifting, from
a time ago, so long
could do no wrong

all the letters that I wrote
will turn up later in the pocket of my coat
the next time it snows

and the horses in the yard
john paul sartre and simone de beauvoir
are taking it hard

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