Crepuscule with Nellie

I am asleep right now on my couch,
an afternoon nap on a windy day.
Walt Whitman has taken my hand
to lead me into the quiet hour before dinner.

I am inclined to ask him some questions.
To start with, "When I write this poem,
should I say I was reading someone else?
No offense… but someone less cliché?"

"Write what you see," he said, "it worked for me."
A car hummed past the front of my house,
the windows rattled. From the wind? The car?
Walt asked, "What do you hide behind your back?"

"My thumb in your book and Monk and Trane."
I felt like asking if I should leave that out as well.
And I did, because Walt said, "Carnegie Hall?"
"Yes. Monk, Trane, Carnegie Hall, 1957."

At this point, he reconsidered his previous advice.
Leave it all out he said, even the part about me.
Mention the napping and the windows,
the wind and the quiet hour before dinner

and leave it at that.