Crooked Rhyme

"The poet reads/His crooked rhyme."--"Bleecker Street," as sung by Simon and Garfunkel, 1964. This blog is dedicated to the poems of Kelley Dupuis.

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Location: Washington, D.C., United States

I love a rainy night, but never cared much for the late Eddie Rabbitt. I'm a writer and editor by trade, weekend painter and one hell of a cook by avocation. I make a fabulous daquiri using Ernest Hemingway's recipe. I love classical music and jazz when I'm at home, classic rock when I'm barreling up the interstate at 70 mph. I have a Trek road bike and a Cannondale mountain bike. I turned 53 on Oct. 12, 2008. Peanut butter goes great with coffee. My favorite pianists are Glenn Gould and Thelonious Monk. I've lived in Europe, South America, Africa and Russia. I speak a little Russian. I can say the Pledge of Allegiance in Spanish. I know how to make feijoada, the national dish of Brazil. I once drove in a demolition derby. I love baseball, but I bear the cross of being a San Diego Padres fan. I hate cellphones. I like good Scotch, quality cigars, Frank Sinatra and delicatessen fare. I collect books. I'm a lousy chess player. Mozart is God.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Generations

I had braces put on my teeth at an age
when my father had all of his pulled out.

The city is more care-worn than it was,
but more sophisticated too. You take, you give.

We rode the bus downtown in our youth.
The old stores are gone, but there’s a hot zone.

When we were boys, Chris and I, we wrote
poems that mentioned Steppenwolf, The Cream;

He’s done his duty now: family, career—
me, I’m still changing addresses.

Hollywood calls this “script continuity:”
My parents and grandparents died in the same house.

You take, you give. That’s the way it goes.

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