Lincoln Duncan
By Paul Simon

Couple in the next room bound to win a prize.
They've been going at it all night long.
Me, I'm trying to get some sleep, but these motel wall are cheap,
Lincoln Duncan is my name and here's my song, here is my song.

My papa was a fisherman, my mama was a fisherman's friend.
And I was born in the boredom and the chowder.
So when I reached my prime, I left my home in the maritime,
And headed down the turnpike for New England, sweet New England.

Holes in my confidence, holes in the knees of my jeans.
I was left without a penny in my pocket.
Oo-oo-wee, I was bout as destituted as a kid could be.
And I wish'd I'd wore a ring so I could hock it, I'd like to hock it.

Young girl in a parking lot, preaching to a crowd.
Singing sacred songs and reading from the Bible.
Well I told her I was lost, and she told me about the Pentecost.
And I seen that girl was the road to my survival.

Late that night, the very same night, she crept to my tent with a flashlight.
And my long years of innocence ended.
She led me to the wood, saying "Here comes something and it feels so good".
And just like a dog I was befriended, I was befriended.

Oh what a night, oh what a garden of delight.
Even now that sweet memory lingers.
I’m playing my guitar, lying underneath the stars,
And just thanking the good Lord for my fingers, for my fingers.


5 days left of NaPoWriMo. 25 more poems to write. Quick, what's a poetic way to say, "I doubt it"? With luck I'll get one or two more done, and I'll be happy about that. Even 5 new poems in one month is better than I've managed in years, better than I've done at any time when I was working for a living. I might have managed it if I could turn off my internal editor, but that's hard, since the editing is such an integral part of the process.

Meanwhile, spring has sprung, and the weather is already hot. March Madness ended abruptly, when somebody apparently dosed the whole team with thorazine right before their Final 4 showdown against Kansas. But hey, Psycho T is coming back for one more year, and if our point guard will stick around, we'll be close to unbeatable, while Dook will be closer to overrated than usual.

This summer, one thing is definite: I MUST GO CAMPING. This is not optional. Yes, I will also resume my efforts in the jewelry/silversmithing area, continue my campaign to get my body back into reasonable condition by hitting the treadmill every morning at 6:30 or 7:00, and try to hold on to some of the momentum this month has given my writing. (Note: I would like to announce that I won or placed in 0 of the 5 categories I entered in the state poetry contest, and 0 of my 5 submissions to Cave Wall magazine were accepted. I feel like a real poet now.) But camping can no longer be put off. It is necessary.