Russell Crowe On the Road

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Stopping over? TL;DR
In Gander, Nfld

Russell Crowe called out two friends
to meet him,

On Twitter so he thought of his
beautiful rainbows

Over Frankfurt: reds circling into a
round mass of gold

And saw this centre as the palms of hands, pressed against glass,

Banging for his attention:
“Sunset over High Park,” that white

Christ fish diving from the sky,
something new, like excitement,

Filling his heart.

They didn’t show; no one did.

He took a picture of his face setting
sadly ahead of one set of footprints

In snow,

Then in front of an ornamented tree,
sort of grizzly but child-eyed,

Before leaving again.

The flight attendant flirted briskly with him and he told her about the coffee

He had, that the sugar was the sunset, sinking in the golden cream,

And blinked hard because she walked away while he was still talking

Because his jokes
about male geese in courtship vectors

And what wonders he has seen were lost

Fathoms below a night-crawling sky.

The man beside him stretches and says, How was your trip?

He clutches his arm and says, No one came,

And cries horribly, one long, wail descending instantly into a cough,

I just stood there, he says, but the man is busy and typing something not

Lovely—

How houses and yards and fields look like huge warm cemeteries

From the sky,

How, from this sky, the moon appears shyly to tap on his little window:

She leaves a blur there he calls “The Moon’s Kiss,” saves face on Twitter,

And remembers to breathe: you must take it all in, then let go.

  • Sara

    It takes a down-under cosmopolitan tweeting abandon for us to crow regional nationalism. Cleary capitalised on this, fishing from Left to Right: according to him the NDP loves Nfdl, but no one else does.

    Such a good poem. You are a Master.

    • lynncrosbie

      Thanks. Love your letter!

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