A Northwest Passage

I. (Seattle)

Seattle, city:
Human desire expressed in verticality,
As in: children stacking blocks,
Madmen climbing lampposts,
Seniors calling "Bingo!"
Straight down the line.
Campers in the streets,
Not just nature enthusiasts,
But also the city's fleas,
Numerous and ever-pullulating,
Curled up in doorways,
Slumped over change cups,
Lying flat on benches . . .
Horizontality expressing
Human desire defeated.

Seattle: expensive!
Fortune-seekers, meet fortune-spenders.
A braggart of a city,
A bean-blending city,
And what am I drinking?
In-room coffee!

Seattle: frangible.
What will happen to the garden Chihulys
If it hails?
Espresso-swilling, ganja-puffing,
Salmon-smoking, booze-and-beer-swigging,
Up-and-up city,
Steeped in trendy downtroddenness from its inception.
Seattle, perpetually overcast,
With drizzles of rain and crème fraiche,
With sprinkles of cinnamon and whimsy,
Rivers of hills, plateaus of water,
Cars and bikes and buses barreling through,
Axles spinning.
Mt. Rainy is that way,
But you can't see it!

II. (Whidbey Island)

Whidbey, island of
Firs, cedars, hemlocks,
Seagulls, herons, cows in pastures
(And a couple of bison!),
Crumbly bluffs,
Pet rabbits gone feral
(And yet still tame)
In coffee shop colors:
Dark roast black,
Latte, cappuccino, and
The occasional Earl Grey gray.
Gigantic dahlias,
Stick-bushy cosmos,
Sunflowers tall enough
For Jack to climb them.

Whidbey, bounded by Deception,
Straits and narrows,
Long and skinny wormlike island
Burrowing into the Salish Sea,
With nesting grounds for
Big metal birds,
Five-pointed stars on wings and tails;
Hear the roars of their mating calls!

III. (Lopez Island)

Over the mercury sea to Lopez,
A cookie sheet with a marbled horizon,
And dribbled across it: a buttery syrup,
Viscous like wax, spooned out from the heavens
And left to cool on this silvery slab,
Forming lumpy pralines; see them spread and scab over.

Lopez, Slowpez,
With ice cream kine and slews of bunnies,
Deer and locals who wave in passing
(A whole secret language of two-lane greetings)
As they criss and cross on
Right-angling roads.
Seals on rocks, whales in swells,
Hemlock needles in my boots;
Shouldn't there be an iceberg or two
Off Iceberg Point?
Mesh of roads, stubs of lanes
With fanciful names, like:
Bat and Ball,
Less Traveled, and
Namaste.

IV. (Orcas Island)

Orcas, a whale of an island for sure!
Humpbacked, bowheaded,
Sometimes gray,
Sometimes blue,
Fluked and finned,
Beaked in places,
Breaching majestically
In front of one's prow,
Lofting to two thousand feet in the air.
A wondrous sight! And sailors' delights
May be found in Eastsound's
Tony taverns.

Eastsound, Westsound,
Now the sun is sinking,
Now the sei is sounding.

Hummingbirds at daybreak,
Redwings, chickadees,
A bitty nuthatch upside down;
A hectic start to the fluttery day
Here beside the marsh.
A fog strolls in to comb and gloom the treetops . . .
Life can be simpler than one thinks.

From Mt. Constitution one can see
Chestnuts and pumpernickel loaves
Floating atop marshmallowy fluff.

V. (San Juan Island)

"The Pig War," a song:

Under the boughs of the old madrone tree,
We'll meet in the shade, my loyal bootneck and me,
And we'll fight! fight! fight! the American scum
For the price of a pig, a goodly sum;
We won't give an inch of this terra-tor-ree
Nor a scrap of bark from the old madrone tree.

Under the boughs of the old madrone tree,
We'll meet in the shade, my dear Yankee and me,
And we'll fight! fight! fight! till the Limey heels
Break into pieces like waxen seals
And drift back across the foamy sea
While we suck from the jug 'neath the old madrone tree.

I am the pig.
I am the rasher on your plate,
The salty lump of goodness in your stew;
I am the snout, trotters, tail,
Ribs, ears, ham, and loin,
The chop you stuff with sage and pone.
I am your fundament and your salvation
When mere biscuit, tater, or bowl of rice
Cannot sustain you,
When cod or perch can't satisfy.
Divide me, men, and feast upon my fatty flesh
Without a call to arms.
I am the pig.

VI. (Victoria)

Victoria, Songhee homeland,
Not quite the Singapore
Of North America,
But it tries, with window boxes,
Knife-edged hedges, flowers in every
Crannied nook,
Prim and proper lawns and rosebeds;
Even the homeless straighten their ties!
Hard to tell them apart from the hipsters;
All the people are shades of gray
Streaked with burnt umber.
Still--the flowers!
Unemployment among the gardeners
Must be nil.

Greetings, stranger!
Lay your cradleboard on this beach,
Upon this sacred harbor shore,
And your jesses will be loosened,
Dour thoughts will not oppress you
Cumbrous shackles will not lame you--
Like an eagle you shall soar.
Onward, stranger!
Ho' sen ya'en su ya, se sw.