Thinking of the night

At Night Gallery the air is unsettled

when I leave and the wind

catches my face

in the car. It blows hot and cold (lord, we’re not yet into November)


“…there may be a come-down” and “the Supreme Court and the recent decision” and “revolution is ugly but it’s another man’s civil war”

opined our local young sage of political discourse at his polemical best,

earlier, when the night still was not young.

And two gentlemen, one being me, did not discuss beer and pasta and men in grey suits and jazz and Ethiopia in Swahili for twenty minutes,

and the hoodie that he wore in Delhi, and the jagged road and the jolting, pissing  ride with goats and the belt that he pounded with a stone, shown to me- he shone- as they all do in my eyes, these people of the Night.

And after two, who are left have work in the show or work for the show

or have nothing but their need to display and their shiny corded heavy woolen clothes and their loud words and pretentious tiresome phrases and they just won’t


(for Andrew and Davida and Michael and Mieke) Geoff Tuck, 3:40 am, October 12, 2011

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