pour the broth into a crockpot on low-heat setting. add protein. remove the seed- and stem-laden tops from the peppers and cut longitudinally into strips, then cut the strips in half widthwise; add to broth. cut rhubarb stalks into one-inch lengths;add to broth mm halve the potatoes after scrubbing them squeaky-clean (do not peel); add to broth. prepare the alphabet soup separately, following the instructions on the can.
let the broth-based soup cook on low for 90 minutes. write a poem using the alphabet soup letters while you wait. (three stanzas is ideal.) when the poem is finished, take a photo, then recite the poem, then eat the poem letters and dump the remaining letters and broth into the crock pot.
stir vigorously and season to taste before serving. buttered rolls or crackers may be used to enhance the soup.
born gary wright bowers in the los angeles megalopolis in 1954/second child of harold price bowers sr. and the former jane paula householder/third child brian clemens followed in 1957/family moved to arizona in 1958
drew a portrait of his mother before he was three/first poems at age 7/first claywork also at 7/first sonnet in early 20s/first acrostic poem in 1987/100th sonnet in 2007/first sestina in 2008/second sestina in 2008
married 1988/one daughter born 1990/divorced 2011/estranged 2021
I am at the 5 & Diner on Colter and 16th Street/Finishing a scoop of ice cream/Which followed an omelette made with shaved steak, peppers, onions/And two kinds of cheese.
It is my slightly naughty (being diabetic) Father’s Day gift to myself.
The two women who made me a father thirty-five years, two months, and one week ago/Live together with a floating population of cats/In the house I once shared with them.
They want to have nothing to do with me, indefinitely/And I have been respecting their wishes.
It has been this way for more than four years.
It hurts less and less as time goes on/But Father’s Day amps up the gaping ache.
Life goes on.
.
Two: Today
It’s my day off. I think, as I have many times/Of writing a letter to Kate/And reminding her/That we have had hundreds of good times together/And that we both love the movies, and Hawaiian and Mongolian barbecue,
And asserting that the explosive argument that started our estrangement/Began with a misunderstanding,
And asking her forgiveness for my crimes against the family,/Including me never ever attending a PTO meeting/When she was a student,/And gambling away a chunk of what should have been family money,
And I would ask consideration for the hours I spent teaching her to read and to count and to write her name (that one took two weeks)/So that she could apply for and obtain a library card at age 3…
But the fire sparked by my real need/To be a father to my daughter again/Flickers and dies with the realization/That after four years the voltage is still sky-high/And what I want is not the issue at stake,
And her specific request at last writing was “please let me go” even though “I know this makes you very sad.”
Even bringing this out in the open/Makes me feel like a hoodlum,
One with Clay, Image and Text 