was
this old
friend of mine
who gave me my first
and only award for poetry.
it was
near 3 in the morning
and we
were drunk
on cheap vodka,
complaining
how we couldn’t
get published anywhere
and never
won any awards for our work
and
we were
standing on this corner
ready
to call it a night
and
he looked up
at the street sign
and saw that it was Wakefield Street
and
he handed me
the bottle and said:
i now award you
the prestigious Wakefield Prize
except
he was drunk
and couldn’t say it very clear.
but,
like they
say in the books,
it’s the thought that counts,
and that
was the first
and only award
i ever got
and Rick
went on to give up writing
and
playing the
piano and guitar.
and
he taught Econ
in a very well-known college
until
one day
he’d had enough
and
stuck his head
in
the oven,
looking, i suppose,
for whatever remained
of his music his hopes and his dreams.
