Robert VanderMolen

In a sports magazine in the barbershop I found a photo of a man and woman Sitting on lawn chairs in their underwear, Smiling, like they’d cornered the market On leisure, an ad for Mexican liquor, I believe, An open door behind them, an overhang Supported by posts of beech, a clothesline Drooping out of view – I was astonished, A cabin that looked just like mine, he said, In summer...

He dreamed of smoke – An electrical fire? Woke, stumbled Through the house, the smell Vanishing, a wisp rising nightward. Back in bed, restless with the light off, A bottle of Bordeaux on his nightstand, A pistol in the drawer, a loneliness He couldn’t control, though he enjoyed Control. Posture was important, shoes, An expression to satisfy women...

Tumps of fish rotting He couldn’t sell

The yellow yard of a cabin

I’d gone to a party

With friends Who slipped off Among cypress, sometime Before morning, When I was rousted To go down to his boat, And chug up the channel, Nauseous Baiting hooks with Anchovy

*

I once rowed Across a private lake Angling for bluegill The cedar skiff painted Maroon with white oars, An easy...

As avidity circulated about the soccer game A bear lingered, nosing among the spruces, Under damp boughs, sampling scents, perching Briefly on a stump, while remaining curious, Until, on impulse, it stepped out on its hind legs, Causing the playing field to empty in a hurry, As in a monster film from the 1950s, a fog Of silence filtered in or should I say descended – Not far from the...

I don’t believe she married him Because he was in the fish business Remarked Lois, which quieted The ensemble some

From upstairs. An old Leonard Cohen tune

It was unfortunate the Attorney-General was involved, If at a distance

Lois was the sister of the AG Her husband puffy and long on anecdotes The banker at a bank that defaulted

In the spacious woodlot behind the house...