I Visited with Richard Brautigan this Morning

I Visited with Richard Brautigan this Morning

I visited with Richard Brautigan this morning,
He was sitting in the early light of dawn
With his feet resting on a clay pot,
Talking to me from his seat
Behind the tomato plant on my deck
Here in Little Tokyo
In springtime in Los Angeles.
 
I told him about rugged New Hampshire summits,
Treeless and cloaked in mist, and how the
High country smelled in the rain while the
Cairns that marked the trail
Disappeared into the fog
Ahead and behind, of
Maple trees and autumn brilliance
Before the cold downpours of early
Winter left them standing
Barren in the forest
Waiting for quiet and a
Mantle of snow.
 
He talked to me about
Fishing and how the
Rain in the Pacific Northwest
Turned the streets of his youth to
Mud in those blackberry days of
Bears and Eastern Oregon before
Tall buildings and the
Parking meters of San Francisco
Gathered him to
Their purpose and stories of
Elmira and Mayonnaise would
Leave him no time to
Grow old.

(this poem appeared in 'Gloom Cupboard', published in the UK in volume #101, July 2009)