Hobble Creek Review
for William Kloefkorn
I remember you playing basketball in high school
thirty years before I was born.
I remember your grandmother calling you Liebchen
when you were very small – Mein Gott!
I remember the time your father bought grapefruits
where you could eat the membranes, they were that tender, that sweet.
I remember you delivering the Wichita Beacon,
except it wasn’t really Wichita nor was it the Beacon.
I remember how genially you collected the myth of living
around yourself, how comfortable you were in your bones.
I remember the time you made love to your wife
of several decades and stood at the bus stop afterwards,
and while you waited the gray sky was full of satisfied marital sex.
Lip, eyelash, belly. What gray clouds they were.
I remember the time, every moment you were alive I think,
when you would walk along and find this life to be
one very long poem, broken up into comfortable stanzas,
while you reported to us the friendly understanding you had
John Philip Johnson is a Nebraska poet whose recent
publications include, Astropoetica, Word Riot, The Southern
Poetry Review, and Rattle. He was the first editor of Laurus
at University of Nebraska, Licoln.