Enkidu Moment I was casting for fall Chinook in October when the deer tore downriver, almost catching my line. He dogpaddled for all he was worth, and his eyes begged “Please don’t tell.” I was a river hunter, not a deer hunter, and the mixed metaphor of a salmon-deer was odd. Orange vests emerged, excited, cursing, crashing through alders. “Which way?” they demanded. I thought a moment, looked at tall evergreens, and pointed over the wrong ridge.    Two Virgins in a Rowboat I am 11 and you are 9 and I have no idea why you want to come return the boat. You sit on the bow and stare at me in silence, beautiful as the wild osprey perched in a giant pine. It will be years before either of us understand we are worth loving.    San Diego Poem The old man beside me is returning a seedless watermelon because he found seeds in it. The teen cashier says, “So, like, how are we supposed to grow them without seeds?” “Not my problem,” says the old man. “It will be your problem when you don’t have one to buy.” After that, the old man wants to speak to the manager. “Dude, I am the manager.” “Mr. Manager,” says the old man, “please label your produce correctly. This should be a ‘fewer seed’ melon.” “You know what I think?” asks the teen. “No, and I don’t care,” says the old man. “I think you need to get your board and paddle out.”

Enkidu Moment

I was casting for fall Chinook in October

when the deer tore downriver, almost catching my line.

He dogpaddled for all he was worth, and his eyes begged

“Please don’t tell.”

I was a river hunter, not a deer hunter,

and the mixed metaphor of a salmon-deer was odd.

Orange vests emerged, excited, cursing,

crashing through alders. “Which way?” they demanded.

I thought a moment, looked at tall evergreens,

and pointed over the wrong ridge.

Two Virgins in a Rowboat

I am 11 and you are 9

and I have no idea why

you want to come

return the boat.

You sit on the bow

and stare at me in silence,

beautiful as the wild osprey

perched in a giant pine.

It will be years before

either of us understand

we are worth loving.

San Diego Poem

The old man beside me is returning

a seedless watermelon because

he found seeds in it.

The teen cashier says, “So, like,

how are we supposed to grow them

without seeds?”

“Not my problem,” says the old man.

“It will be your problem

when you don’t have one to buy.”

After that, the old man wants

to speak to the manager.

“Dude, I am the manager.”

“Mr. Manager,” says the old man,

“please label your produce correctly.

This should be a ‘fewer seed’ melon.”

“You know what I think?” asks the teen.

“No, and I don’t care,” says the old man.

“I think you need to get your board

and paddle out.”