A Walk to Astoria High School on Aug. 26, 2014

My walk to school began at 6:23 a.m.

I wore new brown Hush Puppies

a dead grandfather once wore,

old brown cords.

I felt like John Travolta

in the opening of Saturday Night Fever.

I was strutting to my new teaching job!

Bald eagles chirped overhead.

A low fog drifted through the neighborhood.

I surprised a contractor loading his truck

on his way to undo rain.

That’s his life’s work in Astoria.

He said, “I thought you were a bear!”

We laughed, I moved on.

I saw three deer in a garden watch me pass.

They never moved or blinked.

I want to learn how to live that patient in this world.

A large man let his Schnauzer out to shit.

He looked hungover, the man that is.

His dog wanted to join me; we both knew it.

The litter lady merged with me on Florence Avenue.

She was right on time; she is every morning.

Tapiola Park spotless after her routine.

Should I worry that she stopped to pet a black cat?

Or doesn’t wear sensible shoes?

Or that Tapiola is the name

of a Finnish forest god’s domain?

Light was coming up over Youngs Bay.

I didn’t see a single gillnetter.

Dairy Queen was dark.

An empty log truck blew by.

Saddle Mountain called to me: climb!

The sidewalk was wide and good.

I picked a few blackberries along the way.

And here I am writing this from my classroom,

with a little purple smear on my fingers.