poetry is not a career

before AC

before TV & Radio

even before there was light!

my father would pay me & my brothers

10 cents each for every fly we could kill

on those hot Sacramento summer days

when we would have the windows & doors open

we would roll up the local daily

either the Sacramento Bee or Sacramento Union

[we had, like most towns then, two newspapers]

& begin our hunt

it never went as planned

those little fuckers knew how to hide

from our swats 

yet we persevered

developed techniques

strategies on how to trap the flies

& smack them into a grey pulp

& the old man 

would trust us with our count

reaching into his wallet 

for a couple of bills each

our rolled-up papers gooey with the result

& the house would be

at least for now

fly free