Ian came over last night to have dinner with us on his way to the weekly Poetry group meeting. Since he drives right by our house, he usually stops for dinner. It’s always too short, but we love seeing and talking with him.

The poetry group is fond of Ian and encourages and supports him. He would never have considered attending a weekly poetry workshop four years ago.

He rarely misses a meeting and now attends a second poetry group near Schuylerville,  just outside Saratoga Springs.

As usual, he brought us a poem, and we loved it. His use of words is remarkable. He is always welcome at dinner.

________

By Ian McRae

“The desk ages gracefully when the varnish flakes like

dead skin, the wood underneath

It is new and fresh and pale.

I kept this typewriter around because it has

There is a little latent heat

from the last poem

a little bit of fire, an ember 

That I can blow on, gently at first.

But then beat on abuse, tuck,  and hate, and hate.

And slam and smash

and every time, somehow

this machine, abused and doglike

looks back at me

And says.

You ain’t nothing I can’t take.”