A Poem That Begins with Lines From Nikko Harada

Alan Catlin

"We were a random
collection of misfitted
heroes eating huevos
rancheros" as we listened
to Waylon Jennings
singing Delia's Gone
in the dim bar light
of a cantina on the edge
of nowhere drinking dark
beers from cracked pitchers,
the shared taste of gun
metal and cordite in
every swallow, every
bite, our sweaty backs
up against a white
washed wall facing
the door; the meal
before us on the uneven
tabletop, a kind of last
supper we were eating
as if our lives depended
on it.

c.2000