at times

in my life I've been calld a critic   but I never learnd how to write criticism. that's pissd off some people who have askd me to write a review of this or that & get a play instead.

Tom Beckett is a friend who sent me his new book in trade for my next one. thank god he's a friend because he won't expect me to write a review. like most of Tom's books I alternate between crying & laughing while reading it. sometimes I have to stop because I feel a line bubbling up   a line other people wd put in their review. but I catch myself & fail to write it down. because I don't write reviews.

after the first time I read Tom's new book I wantd to write to him to ask if I cd reprint "I Forgot" in my anthology of lists. once again I have to catch myself (isn't that an odd image?) because as often as Tom has pushd me to do that project I simply haven't.

what I did do was write this poem:

PRETENDING TO BE TOM BECKETT

pasta sauce simmers
in kitchen

guitar rests on couch
in there

where do I go

here in the hall
floor looks good
but if I sit
it'll hurt
to get up

___________________

I know Tom reads my blog. sorry I'm unable to write a review. but thx for sending me yr book. hope the poem doesn't embarrass you. it it does tell me & I'll delete (it).