But Call Me Betsy

Went to a reading by Stephen Dunn   at the Kelly Writers House for class last night. He's written some amazing poems--one about a man seeing a clown waving to him from the distant treeline, and argument he had with his ex-wife about crows traveling in threes, another about being at a party and going upstairs to hang out with the dogs instead, how at a certain time of day, he's more likely to start misbehaving (4 PM), how it's just luck that he's not considered a criminal, just luck that the fire he started didn't spread or luck that a little girl didn't dart out in front of him in traffic when he was driving a little drunk, poems about desire and "this stupid body," and how on hot days in New York, everyone wants everyone, and then this line from one of the poems he read about a writing workshop where he thought he had a great idea and he read it and "the room got quiet with tolerance." That's what I feared might happen for my worksh...

Many dogs in my life today. On my way to the train, I ran into my favorite dog; this German Shepherd mix who is sometimes tied up outside of his house in the morning. He's sort of spastic and whines, but he lets me pet him and pull tufts of his fur off to release into the breeze. Then met Carrie at Chapterhouse after work to hear about her trip to Paris and there were two more dogs inside; one is a spotted friendly mutt named Jessica who lives there. I surreptitiously fed her bits of my raisin scone while the owner wasn't looking. Then to the bike shop next door to pick up Carrie's ten-speed which needed a new tire and tape for the handlebars. Another dog hangs out there, Fido, the saddest dog in the world, skinny, old, never wags his tail no matter how much you pet him. The bike shop boys are gangly 25 year olds with dark hair hanging in their eyes, blue tattoos up and down their legs and arms; guys with big hands long fingers adept at adjusting things. Back to Carrie'...