I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Thursday, February 25, 2021

Buying gas in Pleasanton

 

February 25, 1974  (I was 29)

 

Buying gas in Pleasanton

In the gas line

45th in line

parked illegally

on the highway

trucks blow past

indignation

An improbable farmer on a tractor

in an improbable field grows smaller then larger

his slow tractor turns the long rows of dirt

The station man walks up the line with his NO GAS sign

An executioner  

Who will be cut? 

He walks past

Gulls waver in waves above the tractor

then drop into the broken swells

Fume tainted haze is the new morning mist

Line of car starter

firing like salutes

Policeman over a megaphone from his car

tries to clear a lane 

The sun lifts the morning sky

The station man shuffles two lines into one

as diplomatically as Kissinger

then sprints smiling

to the ringing phone in his service island home

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