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William Schmidt
The poem struck me as bartenderís wisdom, like a little nugget of truth. I just imagined this guy walking into the bar. Heís kind of, like, this soggy mess and hopeless. And the bartenderís, like, ďBuck up, itíll be OK.Ē

The rest of the image comes from different places. Like the colorsóI usually get colors from things I see, from things that pop out. The manís jacketóthatís pretty much my jacket. Itís an old, ugly yellow jacket. But I love the color, so I use it in as many things as I can.

Maybe because of Syracuse, Iím getting to like these really pale, washed out colorsóthis cloudy day pallet. Bright colors are just too abrasive. They almost hurt.

The same pub warmth that
Melted the slush I stepped in
Will help me forget!

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