Friday Love Poem: Andy Bowen!

Photo by Marissa Johnson

This week's dreamboat was a contributor to the original FLP series, so he gets extra hugs!

Archaeology

In a thousand years they'll dig us up in Oklahoma.

They'll sort through our bones

At the bottom of that canyon

With furrowed brows and half cocked chins,

The incarnation of confusion.

They'll use their shovels and their brooms to undress us,

Finding femur by femur,

Humor by humor,

Jaw by jaw.

The young one will sit up on her knees, 

Stare at our tangled rib cages and ask,

"How did they die?"

The old one, standing behind her,

Noticing the geometry of the sockets of our eyes,

Will remove his hat,

Straighten his collar and say,

"Happy."

Andy Bowen lives alone in Northwest Oklahoma, where he runs a small city and drinks.  He likes to camp, read, swim and cry, and occasionally write down the things that come into his head.  He hopes you like his poetry, but if you tell him so, he'll get very uncomfortable and start to argue with you that it's not really any good.  He's a chore of a human, not least to himself.