by Louie Crew
Tired of my work, I walked in narrow lanes
this afternoon to watch March make its way
in England. Fields were smothered more with grey
than green. A jogger sloshed through the mud drains
of recent snow. Unseen birds piped quaint strains
of busyness from every hedge. Stray
small flowers brittled in the cold. Delay
loomed with a dull numbness nothing explains.
At twilight I entered a small church, vast
with dark corners and prayers on short cold breath.
I thought I heard the eerie sound of death
in creaking pews and pat of feet that passed.
The noise, the room, the day: appropriate
for one like me, who misses you a bit.
Louie Crew, 74, an Alabama native, is an emeritus professor at Rutgers. He lives in East Orange, NJ, with Ernest Clay, his husband of 36+ years.
As of today, editors have published 2,042 of Crew’s poems and essays. Crew has edited special issues of College English and Margins. He has written four poetry volumes Sunspots (Lotus Press, Detroit, 1976), Midnight Lessons (Samisdat, 1987), Lutibelle’s Pew (Dragon Disks, 1990), and Queers! for Christ’s Sake! (Dragon Disks, 2003).