Among Old Friends

By Jim Erickson

Two Bobs and an eagle-eyed friend

Meeting old friends over a cup of Joe,

Gets thoughts percolating, then stories flow,

The yarns are really all over the map,

Literally and figuratively, as we yap.

Tall tale ideas of a Narrows dam

Swinging out, Gig Harbor to ram,

Flooding the Legislature in its wake,

Maybe that's a good thing for us to take.

Salinas Valley of Steinbeck's book

Gets more than just a passing look,

Virtues of California's lettuce growing

Mixes with robot machines for sowing.

On to Buffalo, New York, we turn

And about Maxwell Parrish's art we learn

That some critics couldn't grasp his themes,

And lost sight of incredible colors, it seems.

Scary moments on ledges in the West,

Dropped pebbles unheard ending a nightly quest,

But a rewarding sunrise glorious at best;

Sidewinders singing in the dark,

Their rattles like serenades in the park;

Moving, hat by face, to prevent fangs' mark.

From ledges, we leap to a rocky old face,

A man on a mountain in a New Hampshire place;

“The Great Stone Face,” Hawthorne's book,

Told the story of a boy who achieves the look.

The face, honored on a coin, no longer around,

Eroded and weathered, it fell to the ground.

We wrapped up with snippets on cowboys and guns,

Shooting snakes in noon day suns;

B17s, Leathernecks and war stories galore;

When we meet again, we'll discuss them more.