I Went to the Waterfront by Kathleen Fellows

I went to the waterfront

in Portland, Oregon

and walked with good company

appreciating the sunshine.

My hair was short and down.

I brought my loud shirt with me.

Countless cars drove by,

next to the market.

One stopped and asked us,

“How do you get to the Pearl?”

I recalled when I grew in the suburbs

of Beaverton, Oregon

but still I belong everywhere

in this green and brown state.

I Went into the Maverick Bar by Gary Snyder

I went into the Maverick Bar  

In Farmington, New Mexico.

And drank double shots of bourbon

                         backed with beer.

My long hair was tucked up under a cap

I’d left the earring in the car.

Two cowboys did horseplay

                         by the pool tables,

A waitress asked us

                         where are you from?

a country-and-western band began to play  

“We don’t smoke Marijuana in Muskokie”  

And with the next song,

                         a couple began to dance.

They held each other like in High School dances  

                         in the fifties;

I recalled when I worked in the woods

                         and the bars of Madras, Oregon.  

That short-haired joy and roughness—

                         America—your stupidity.  

I could almost love you again.

We left—onto the freeway shoulders—

                         under the tough old stars—

In the shadow of bluffs

                         I came back to myself,

To the real work, to

                         “What is to be done.”