warning! poetry! warning!

I'm pretty much on my way to poetry class right now, but I feel like the ol' blog needs an updating. So here are a couple of poems (without the changes suggested by the teacher and class) that were particularly well recieved.

Where the Creek is Shallow

Earlier he had listened to the gravel under his feet;
His dog’s excited, haggard breathing,
Her ears alert, listening too, for everything:
That far away creek,
And the slowly shedding leaves,
Some branch breaking and tumbling down its tree.
And they began, then, toward the copse, that old gate,
That old stump, a fallen tree--
Its roots torn from the ground and spread
Like fingers are spread from a desperate hand.

Later he will go back home, out of breath and shaking,
With his dog, oblivious, proudly trotting behind him,
And turn the sink on hot, plunge his hands in
And use the soap, wring his hands, and stand there washing.
When he was a boy he went fishing in that creek
And noticed each season’s changing leaves.
But in his kitchen he will notice the flesh of his palm,
The hair on his knuckles, all his fingers there and
Working. A blessed thing that Sunday morning.

Still. His dog laps at his hand and he lets her,
Her nose wet, her haunches wet from the spray against the stone.
Yet he would not stop staring at the body drifting in its tomb;
How, like reeds, the slow flow of the stream undulated its fingers;
And there, like a boat finding shore, some fallen autumn leaf
Did strike against and sail along the useless line of its wasted cheek.
A thought crosses uninvited then, against his numbing feeling:
That if the water were just deeper, the body would float away,
And he could look, away, at it-- not dead, but sleeping.
Not floating, but swimming.

My Own Rolled to my Elbows

I have three hours before
She gets back from class
And I’ve spent most of it
Finding this spot.
My bike is leaning against
The tree I climbed earlier;
My hat is just above my eyes;
I know there are clouds
And sea spray beyond that hill.
I know how her sweater will feel
And I wait.

It is not too much longer
Nor too cold.
The taste of apple is sticky
On my lips.

And that's it. I also wrote a villanelle, but I'm not sure how I feel about it, no matter what my classmates said.

this was probably a bad idea

I had quite an adventure last night, let me tell you. I had just finished closing and, being hungry, began to drive to Safeway. Before I go any further, I've got to give you the lay of the land: The bookstore is in the middlish of a largish shopping center, with a main road as the crow flies from the front door and a considerably less main road to your right as you face the main road. So I don't have to deal with traffic, I usually take the less main road when I go to Safeway, and just drive in the back way. The less main road stops at the end of the back of the shopping center, where it meets what is, for all intents and purposes, a residential street. There are no stop signs on any of the three meeting points, so you've got to be careful when you turn.
Now, I pulled up to the residental street and saw there was a car coming to my left (the way to turn to get to Safeway), and I waited. Once that one passed, I saw another one coming to my right, but since it was at least a blockish ways away, I turned left.
No sooner had I turned left that the car zoomed up and almost hit my tail. The driver, irate for whatever reason, turned his brights way way up and continued to tailgate me like a bastard. I considered stopping, but decided that damage to my car was not something I wanted. Besides, I thought, it's only a short distance to Safeway, he'll continue on this road to the main road up ahead.
No such luck. When I turned onto the back drive to the parking lot, he followed. I hoped he was just going to the store, but to be on the safe side I pulled all the way to the third row of parking spots instead of the first. I parked. He was still in front of the store, his lights on, his car on. I was not about to walk in front of him. Then he swerved into a parking spot, got out, and slammed his door closed.
I am not familar enough with Mr Gandolfini's performances in The Sopranos to make any real comparisons, but if he grew a goatee, he'd probably look something like the man who was glaring menacingly in my direction.
I got out of the car with my bag (containing the chicken I had intended to return [2 weeks past expiration though I bought it that morning]), reasoning that I could run inside or at least escape into the night with my car unharmed.
"Learn to drive, asshole," he shouted helpfully.
"The speed limit's 25 on that street," I pointed out at equal volume.
"Hey, fuck you," he replied.
"Oh, fuck off," I countered, not to be outdone.
We exchanged more pleasantries in this vein, and I began to make my way to the store. I watched him carefully because although he hadn't come any closer, he was clearly still very very angry with me. He was also following me into the store, but through the doors closest to him. Once inside, I walked quickly to the customer service desk with my chicken and got a refund.
When I went back outside later, visions of my wrecked car floating before me, everything was fine. None of my tires were slashed, nothing was in the exhaust pipe, no windows were broken. He was gone.