shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Hiram Larew


Before Then

I wonder where the bull is now –
The one that looked up as we climbed over the fence
To fish the pond below.
We often recounted later with gleams
How we discovered that beetles falling from overhanging peaches
Made the water boil
And how the buckets we went home with
Were a sloshy kind of religion –
Especially when the bull looked up.

Now with eyes closed on any stopped subway
Or at the steep foot of Devil's Knob
Or even stepping with care into the Forbidden City
Our cut through the field comes back near
As does that helpful hoist over and the funny fear.