Thing About this Sort of Thing

(doodle in the wake of a friend’s stroke)

Something like a letter of an alphabet –
hybrid of a “D” and “G” – amalgamated,
maybe, out of Donna and of me:

cartoon-simple scraps of faces captured
in it (don’t know who they are or why
they’re three) – maladroitly tinted – colors

with a proto-meaning: something
that might coalesce into rememberable form.
Turned off the radio and sat with all

my pencils and my markers at the table
in the quiet: here’s what spawned. Thing
about this sort of thing is: no one’s warned.

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