Eugene - Greg Brown

I think I’ll drive out to Eugene, get a slide-in camper for

My truck, pack a bamboo rod, hip boots, a book of flies from

A Missoula pawn shop, rub mink oil into the cracked leather

Wonder about the old guy who tied these trout chew flies

They work good.

Take along my Gibson JF45 made by women

During World War II, coffee stained stack of maps, a little

Propane stove, a pile of old quilts, a can opener, kipper

Snacks, smoked oysters, gun powder tea, a copper teapot, and

A good sharp knife

Sometimes you have to go — look for your life

I’ll park by some rivers, cook up some rice and beans, read

Ferlinghetti out loud, talk to the moon tell, her all my

Life tales, she’s heard them many times.

I’ll make up some

New juicier parts, drink cold whiskey from a tin cup, sit in

A lawn chair and fiddle with my memories, close my eyes and

See.

Sometimes you gotta go not look for nothin'

The Northwest is good, once you get off I-5 and wander up

And down the Willamette dammit, on the back back roads.

I

Know a few people who’d let me park in their drive, plug in

For a night or two, stay up late, and talk about these crazy

Times — the blandification of our whole situation.

And then

Back to the woods.

A dog is bound to find me sooner or

Later.

Sometimes you gotta not look too hard — just let the

Dog find you

Then head south and east, maybe through Nevada, the

Moonscape of Utah.

Stay in some weird campground where

Rodney and Marge keep an eye on things.

Everybody’s got a

Story, everybody’s got a family, and a lot of them have

RV’s.

I’m on my way to the Ozarks, to the White River and

The Kern.

Those small mouth are great on a fly rod.

And

They’re not all finicky like trout.

Trout are English and

Bass are Polish.

And if I wasn’t born in Central Europe I

Should have been.

Maybe it’s not too late.

Sometimes you

Have to dream deep to find your real life at all

I might go on over through Memphis.

I played a wedding at

The Peabody Hotel once twenty odd years ago, and everybody

Danced.

Usually they just set there and stare.

A few at

Least sway.

The roads are stupid crowded everywhere.

Kids

Coming along are used to it — all wired up and ready, or

Wireless I guess, and even readier.

World peace is surely on

The horizon, once us old fuckers die.

I’ll do my part, but

First I wanna to go across Tennessee into North Carolina

Fish some of those little mountain streams, catch some brook

Trout which are God’s reminder that creation is a good idea

The world we’ve made scares the hell out of me.

There’s

Still a little bit of heaven in there and I wanna show it

Due respect.

This looks like a good spot up here.

You can

Try me on the cell, but most places I wanna be it doesn’t

Work.

Sometimes you got to listen hard to the sounds old

Mother Earth still makes — all on her own