A TRIBUTE TO MARK STRAND

I have a friend named Mark.

I have several strands of hair.

I like the name ‘Mark Strand.’

I like movie theatres named ‘The Strand.’

I used to say “On your mark, get set, STRAND!”
all the time.

I would like to say “Mark my words.” Someday.

I would love to listen to STRANDED, by Roxy Music, now.

My birthday is on the same day as Mark Strand.

Or Mark Spitz.

I can’t recall.

I would hate to be stranded.

Stranded with Mark Strand...would be good.

Like a steak.

One that is medium rare.

So here I am on an island.

With strands of hair.

Eating a medium rare steak.

And french fries.

Knowing there is life after death.

Science told me.

On your mark get set.

For you, Mark Strand, the poet.

For you, Mark Spitz, the swimmer.

Save me.

I confess.

For you, Mark Spitz.

I have not swum the deep blue ocean.

For you, Mark Strand.

I have not read thousands upon thousands of poems.

I have not read so very many things.

The poetry of Mark Strand.

In all its elegance.

Magnificent to be sure.

Delightful in its contours.

Truly unforgettable in its cogitations.

I have not read so very many things.

Mark Strand’s poetry.

Comes right to mind.

CRISPY FLOTILLA