haibun
crane

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Contents Page: July 1, 2011, vol 7 no 2

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Ray Rasmussen

 

Belonging

The Raving Poets meet in a dimly lit tavern basement. Mostly in their twenties, they're dressed in second-hand scruff. I'm in coat and tie, having come from delivering a lecture to a group of businessmen.

Poet after poet rants against capitalism, poverty, politics, sexism and racism. I try to remember what it was like to be them–how I felt when we marched against the war in Vietnam. But I no longer feel youth's need to rage against social injustice.

Stifling the urge to leave, I read a poem about my old bathrobe – how wearing it is akin to the relationship with my wife – full of holes, yet comfy. There's polite applause as I return to my table where, helped along by the cheap house wine, I descend from an adrenaline rush to depression.

home in the dark
tabby rubs
against my leg

 


This is a revised version of a haibun that first appeared in Ink, Sweat & Tears, May 17, 2007.

 

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crane