August 18, 2026

the business of poetry

Porter tells me we’re starting a business together. He’s seven, visiting
from California on a whirlwind trip with his dad. We’ve just come back
from the cove, where I tried to find an old coin that slipped through
another boy’s fingers three days ago. The business we’re starting,
Porter says, is poetry. Now, we just have to raise the money.
Later, we’ll walk the streets of my town considering potential customers,
except we won’t exactly know what we’re selling, or how to talk about it.
So we’ll head down to the dockside ice cream shop, decide between
flavors, and sit in the air conditioning and stare out the smudgy window
until we’ve had enough or our bowls are empty, whichever comes first.