Trout Fishing In Los Angeles
I explain my emotional connection with cheese
to a wide eyed man who counters with his allegory
of the fish and chips so good, it killed him.
“What are you going to do now that you’re dead”
I ask the man, and he says nothing, like dead men do.
It’s then that I notice his tie is not merely silk
designed to look like a fish; it’s actually a fish.
Trout, specifically. The kind you might find in a trout stream,
or in your backpack, if you’re the type to carry trout around.
Trout like the one hanging from this man’s neck,
like it had been lynched, like, watch out Halibut,
you’re next. It’s then that I notice the rest of the man’s
outfit is made up of a trout stream. The kind of trout stream
you’d find in a place where they have lots of trout streams.
Turns out there was no dead man. I’d been having a conversation
about cheese with a trout stream. Imagine my surprise.
I gather myself together, say to the trout “Hello Mister Trout.”
Trout says back to me nothing, like trout do,
then swims away, probably to spawn. It’s then that I notice
before the trout disappears into the trout stream distance,
it seems to be wearing a neck tie in the shape of a dead man.
I check to see
if I am still breathing.
I am not.
Gone to Istanbul
I have your pen
left on the table
before three months in Istanbul
You won’t need it there
where for less than the price
of an American coffee
Ten men
will write down
everything you say
So be careful
what you say
You have the tendancy to go on
Which we love
here in Los Angeles
But in Istanbul
the extra three minutes
riffing on your favorite German director
could change history
We don’t want calls from the UN
You’ll need to feed his cat
for an extra two years
while we question him
about Klaus
and the boat.
Stick to the bazaars
They’re outside
You can get lost
in the hookah options alone
Two years is too long
for a cat to go without food
