Poulin's Native SonA Poem by jacob erin-cilbertoPoulin's Native Son it's later than it was
yesterday when i watched eighteen pass me by with a whiff of gin a tote on that joint of clueless education it might have been a game i can't remember if i won but i vividly recall some of it as if it were tomorrow and certainly will become 70 yesterday still have books from back then an old poetry anthology, ripped to pieces shreds of the Beat poets dreaming words into me today i read from it woke up in Ferlinghetti's shoes stomped my iambic feet freewheeling into nineteen with "I am waiting" as my theme but my poetry got scuffed i lost my shine, tomorrow when it was yesterday i wrote of the day before with a sniff of gin enough to dizzy my eye and the scent of the weed enough to knock me over like a dandelion in the wind now i remember i did win i made it to 70 but i doubt my poetry will find its way to 71. yet, i do vividly recall tomorrow as if it were yesterday. when all is said and done and done and... erin-cilberto 10/12/2020 © 2020 jacob erin-cilbertoReviews
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6 Reviews Added on October 15, 2020 Last Updated on October 15, 2020 Authorjacob erin-cilbertoCarbondale, ILAboutOriginally from Bronx, NY, I live in Carbondale, Illinois...teach English at a community college and have been writing and publishing poetry since 1970. I am here to read for inspiration from other po.. more..Writing
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