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take Henri out for coffee? I know this is a different time period, time has borders also, but what the état, I think we can do it. Tell him we’ll have a big plate of sweet
arrabiata
and I won’t mention Claes Oldenburg’s bright-coloured canvas hamburger sculptures even once. We’ll just talk about Henri’s
Jazz Portfolio
and questions of general focus.
    He’s out, David, she says, He’s paying a bill and having some shirts made.
    I wanted to talk to him about tapioca. I’ve decided that tapioca is the opposite of style. Obvious, I guess. Love is such a sweet bowl of tapioca. But it needs character. It needs wit. Something the French masters were good at, Pascin with his endless drinking, Dufy with his
crême brulées
; and it needs colour, the advertising photographs for style should be of baseball players and models.
    So I go out for lunch around 2:30 – rare roast beef sandwich as usual, but with a slice of honest dark chocolate cake on the side. Dark w/ hazelnuts, I might add, and I like to lick a little salt off my hand before I eat the cake.
    Well, stupid, my mother says, I didn’t tell you to eat nothing but tapioca.

COMFORTABLE SHOES
                 It’s amazing how easily I can turn the most
    embarrassing remark around as long as I’m wearing
    comfortable shoes,
                           Clark’s wide last or Nike’s court shoes,
    whatever. For example, Grant walks over to me at a party
    for Gord Raynor & says, Sorry to hear about your losing
    your job with the Waterloo Arts Council. He has a nice
    smile on his face, & he obviously thinks this is a good
    bit to do.
             And I simply smile at him, very relaxed, & say,
    I’m working on a new book, or I’ve just discovered a great
    recipe for chicken with pistachios & red onion. And
    I tweak his cheek, & give his collar a jerk,
    as if to say, Why don’t you buy some new shirts, fella?
    How do I know he’s being insincere? Because he’s not even
    vaguely concerned about me, we’re not even real friends –
    he just wants to make the commiseration & get the scoop
    on how it happened. So why should I waste my time
    telling him how it happened. It was nothing anyway,
    it was just a wastebasket, so to speak. And I stroll
    away to get a drink. I’m not a great writer,
    & I don’t put very much stress
    on having a perfect history of proprietry,
    although yes, I do like to have a shower every morning,
    clean socks, a little talcum powder in a pair
    of comfortable shoes. Personal information,
    I mean a bite that corresponds to a sensitivity
    you may have, goes for a sentence or two, sure; but
    it doesn’t redefine your good stuff. I’ve got a good
    curve on the outside, that’s about all I need.
    But listen closely: you should never go out for
    the evening without wearing a pair of comfortable shoes.

THE SKY BLUE HEART OF ONTARIO
    for Ed Grogan
               Here in the sky blue heart
                                                     of Ontario
    I am sitting on a battered wood&canvas lawn chair
    out on the beach at Hanlan’s Point
    without a Citizenship. Behind me
    to the north there are the lush Muskokas
    & west there are the rugged boonies & farms
    that begin before Great Slave Lake.
                                                  I am happy &
    useless in my rumpled chinos
    with a large double scotch
    not reading because I would need a 5 × 8 portable
    red plastic box light. After all,
    this is an island in Lake Ontario.
                                               The sun
    is coming up orange; there are trees,
    & the great smoke of Toronto is in the distance. I have never
    believed in the Iroquois that much. In my heart
    I have always believed the Sioux
    to have been kinder
    & to have had a larger concept of