more fragrant

ah the smell of hemlock in the morning – prolific
usurper of the poppy, remembered for nosy Socrates’
blood; Athens chose well. a field of amorous weed

scents; maybe Demeter has something to match this,
who knows. but now i see, the way to go is up at crack
of dawn, before the tourists. Bay Fresh Seafood’s motors

are humming, the Mbari ship groans under the weight
of all that research; crab nets are stacked. I say happy
birthday, Frank O’Hara; you’re gone, but maybe there is

a heaven, and some sweet man-angel for you. Even
Castroville’s one main street, with its four bars and
half dozen produce stands has its fond memories, e.g.

Norma Jean, the thistle queen; I mean the artichoke
of course. Slip some garlic cloves between its petals -
a delicious lunch poem, more fragrant than hemlock.

– for Michael