Here's a poem I wrote in the car driving back home to St. Louis. I transcribed today from memory, changing it as I went along.



The kid who comes to fix the plumbing is very likely a drummer in a metal band

He'll be more erudite than the professor whose plumbing he's come to fix

But who nevertheless transcribes Max Roach solos in his spare time

The translator of Homer is zen master (of a Korean school), an aficionado of billiards

The Arts-Administrator is a comic-book artist

He collects Bollywood movies and only listens to Lebanese and Egyptian pop-stars

Although he studied classical composition in his youth

He's married to Nada, a belly-dancer and extravagant poet

The car salesman, nevertheless, is only that: a car saleman

The same can be said for the lawyer, the cardiologist, the novelist

And myself? I am the waiter apiring to movie stardom, the shoe-shine boy sonero

The hit-man/professor, the psychologist golf-pro