Bless the men with holes in them, and bless the women.
Bless eight uninterrupted hours of television.
The man cried while the woman laughed
then the man laughed while the woman cried—
they wanted to line up, but didn't.
Bless the tattered net hanging from the orange
metal rim. The thin kid shooting baskets. The cat
who lets the spider live. The construction
worker who drops a brick on his foot, which stings
but he just laughs. Bless that laugh as it evaporates.
And I think I could spend the next twenty years getting high with you
on the hillside by the airport, getting high and watching planes take off
and land, and land, and take off.
It's the last one I wrote in Ohio.