In the pines, in the pines, . . .

. . . where the sun never shines,

and you shiver when the cold wind blows.

 

I asked my captain for the time of day,

he said he throwed his watch away. . .

(Bill Monroe version)

On the wests side of my back yard, there are six or eight pine trees that I wish were somewhere else. They are huge, old and scarred. If they were gone, there'd still be plenty of oaks, sweet gums, hickories, persimmons, cedars, and assorted bushes.

I love this place.

*

But I guess the hawks would nest somewhere else.

 

*

 

I'm thinking about submitting Big Baby to both Buddhapuss and Negative Capability Press, in hopes that Mary Chris and Sue would read it and just tell me what they think. I'm not as particular about fiction as about my poems, and would not at all resent suggestions on how to make it better. Or even whether I should put it in a drawer and forget about it.