By FRANK NIMS.

Walking Down First Avenue the Other Day, They Were Tearing Down That Place We Used to Hang Out All the Time When It Was New

And we went together as well
as Bobby Hackett and Lee Wiley
as black coffee and an ocean breeze
as a front porch swing and a rainy summer night

We drank Ketel and called it K-Tel
and laughed
the bartender hated us
we didn’t care
in love doesn’t care

Glaucous, the poets’ word —
it ought to be lovelier —
for the color of your eyes
yellow green hazel grey
it does bring up an image of Athena though
waiting
at some wine-dark side street’s end

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Book 24

Penelope of the hundred lovers
(but her friends all say it’s a hundred and eight)
Penelope whose fond heart hovers
above the thrusting beneath the covers
wondered why anyone would wait
for a dead man’s shadow at the garden gate.

The Schemer returned from far away
with full explanations for the long delay
giftings and gougings and battles of the sexes
Circe la Pharm and her drugged-out exes
Calypso the song stylist with her own club down the shore
and her, and her, and besides between before.

But he never mentioned Nausicaa
never spoke of Nausicaa
never told Penelope
that Nausicaa shared their bed at night.

Penelope
Weaver of veils
Nausicaa
Burner of sails

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FRANK NIMS is mostly of Irish ancestry. As the son of itinerant academics he spent his early years in Spain and Italy. His grandfather was a rural postman in southwestern Michigan, moraines and silver maple with orchards here and there. Although a Chicagoan at heart he has lived in a variety of places including London and New York, where he was associated with the Poetry Project at St. Mark’s. His favorite bands include the Kinks, Roxy Music, the Golden Palominos, and the Wygals.