On this day in 1976 I stood
on a rolling deck
on the starboard watch,
and saw Mt. Fuji's peak,
high above the clouds.
In '85 I huddled between two soda machines
alongside a gas station and watched a thunder storm
stampede across the Bad Lands.
In 96 my dad and I came upon
the Silver City Co-Op
on the continental divide
and talked our wounds away.
In 1981 I was sick behind a dumpster in
Baton Rouge, swatting rats off my legs,
trying to remember my name.
Tijuana, 77, Rosario.
Olah! She didn't need hands
to pull a cork!
92. Quit smoking.
I could go on and on.
What matters most, though,
is July 8, 2009.
Today was a good day.
That's enough to make it special.
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