Look at her in those blue jeans, watch
her long legs walking up that gentle slope––
that’s time passing by. F.R. Scott used to do that,
I know him now, though he stood stiff, his
posture learned during a previous ka-chíng!
of centuries, back when bookshelves looked
less like boards.
I was recently offered a “global
coffee,” and timidly turned the offer away; wit,
I understand, is not ancient, nor does it abide with
children; wit is not convenient, it is nearly always
an unfamiliar visitor who plays with you
a second or two. You never want to wear
brown clothes, you want to stop time to
speed it up. Up that gentle slope where my Uncle
Red is taking a breather, he and his horn-rimmed
cigarette holder. Uncle Red’s dog hated my dog, but they
rimed, killer terriers who never reviewed a book.
Say a book by F.R. Scott, born in 1899, lived with
one eye, bit a cigarette holder, knew more about time
than you’ll ever know.
George Bowering's [pictured with Ivy Zhang, the girl who saved his life] most recent book of poems is The World, I Guess (2015) from New Star Books. In spring his hockey book, The Hockey Scribbler, appeared from ECW. In Fall 2016 his book about becoming a father, co-authored by Charles Demers, will be published by Arsenal Pulp. We don't have a title yet, and Charles did not go for my suggestion, George, the Book.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan