city boy, country boy

For my brother, Sherman

Motion into poetry,
we walk together, my brother and I --
frequently turning: this
corner, past that alley;
dodging the others making their
own, individual ways;
walking ferociously,
unwinding the maze.

I'm trying to find the me that fits the city --
am I suited for the streets?
I'm here in the midst of a hectic vacation
from the moss-covered,
forested desperation,
which those of us hide so well,
who live "in the sticks."

Today I am unleashed upon the city
but it needn't fear my intrusion.
I'm too much the fish upon dry earth
to walk these streets with abandon
as he does,
so I just come to visit.

I'll observe and just pretend to know my way;
I've come to dip my toes in the pool,
but don't care to swim.

... and, so, my brother
can come to the country
to taste water from a spring;
but he'll leave it to me
to plant the garden and cut the wood.

He can count on me to try and keep the water clean.

G. Douglas Clarke
29 August 1995
[posted here by the hereinmentioned city-dwelling brother]