When Clifford wasn’t back to camp by nine, …
Andrew Hudgins
Half awake, I was imagining …
I worked the river’s slick banks, grabbling …
As we sipped and mingled, …
Our father liked to play a game. …
Our Father who art in heaven, I am drunk. …
My fingertips marveled at the silvery shimmer, …
Almost droll …
Without intending to hide, …
Today I’m thinking of St. Paul—St. Paul, …