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Dream Song 111: I miss him. When I get back to camp

John Berryman

I miss him. When I get back to camp
I'll dig him up. Well, he can prop & watch,
can't he, pink or blue,
and I will talk to him. I miss him. Slams,
grand or any, aren't for the tundra much.
One face-card will do.

It's marvellous how four sit down—beyond
my thought how many tables sometimes are 
in forgotten clubs
across & down the world. Your fever conned
us, pal. Will it work out, my solitaire?
The blubber's safe in the tubs,

the dogs are still, & all's well . . . nine long times
I loosed & buried. Then I shot him dead.
I don't remember why.
The Captain of the supply ship, playing for dimes, 
thinks I killed him. The black cards are red
and where's the others? I—

Added: 5 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 17 Jan 2018 5:59 AM | Viewed: 5314 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/5691/ | Viewed on 17 January 2018.
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