I Did Not See That Coming (Little Red Hen, Seattle, Evening of Saturday, February 18th, 2012)

Last night Danielle and I were sitting at the end of the bar in our reserved spots (because, quite honestly, that's how we roll) waiting for Knut Bell and the Blue Collars to take the stage at the Little Red Hen. Earlier in the evening, I had a brief conversation with a perfectly adorable bartender/cocktail waitress named Cory (spelling unconfirmed; in truth there are many adorable folks working at the LRH, both male and female) in which I discovered she is getting her MFA in Poetry from the University of Washington. I mentioned that Danielle and I had MFAs from the University of Michigan. Later, Cory came up behind us and, after a moment or two of MFA chat, she began to recite an Elizabeth Bishop poem (One Art). Now, Miss Bishop happens to be one of Danielle's absolute favorites, so that was a nice surprise; but more than that, the notion that we could be in a country bar waiting to see country music and one of the staff would begin reciting an Elizabeth Bishop poem, well, I have to say that we did not see that coming. When I commented on this to Cory she simply said, "That's what makes the Little Red Hen so special." And so it is.

A small taste of Knut Bell...


And a small taste of Elizabeth Bishop...


Suicide of a Moderate Dictator

This is a day when truths will out, perhaps;
leak from the dangling telephone earphones
sapping the festooned switchboards' strength;
fall from the windows, blow from off the sills,
—the vague, slight unremarkable contents
of emptying ash-trays; rub off on our fingers
like ink from the un-proof-read newspapers,
crocking the way the unfocused photographs
of crooked faces do that soil our coats,
our tropical-weight coats, like slapped-at moths.

Today's a day when those who work
are idling. Those who played must work
and hurry, too, to get it done,
with little dignity or none.
The newspapers are sold; the kiosk shutters
crash down. But anyway, in the night
the headlines wrote themselves, see, on the streets
and sidewalks everywhere; a sediment's splashed
even to the first floors of apartment houses.

This is a day that's beautiful as well,
and warm and clear. At seven o'clock I saw
the dogs being walked along the famous beach
as usual, in a shiny gray-green dawn,
leaving their paw prints draining in the wet.
The line of breakers was steady and the pinkish,
segmented rainbow steadily hung above it.
At eight two little boys were flying kites.

IBL:mm