FRYING BRATWURST
IN THE GARAGE
by K. J. Knoespel

Open the folding door
with a scrape
and the greasy smell hits you:
walls smoked for decades
in the billowing clouds
of spitting bratwurst,
rafters saturated—
the jagged two-man saw with handles
from the north woods,
streaked storm windows
like giant slides in a box,
an oval pull dangling
from a faded shade,
shovels, rakes and hoes,
garden hoses, nozzles—
witness to backyard brat fries
that sought cover
from summer rain.
They are all gone.
But smell draws them
from the tar-paper walls,
card tables, folding chairs
and tables layered with hard rolls,
potato salad, pickles and onions,
or beer pumped from the keg
still foaming at the spigot.
The porous smokehouse garage
like a forgotten box camera
holds them all with such resolution
that I can hear them laughing.








_____________________________________________________


K. J. Knoespel teaches at Georgia Tech in Atlanta, Georgia,
where he participated in building Poetry@Tech.  In addition to
creating courses and programs between disciplines there, he
has worked extensively with colleagues in Sweden, Russia, and
France.  Knoespel translates Swedish poetry and is a founding
editor of
Configurations: A Journal for Literature, Science,
and Technology
, published by Johns Hopkins University Press.    


Previous page  Apple Valley Review, Spring 2016  Home page
Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Literature
 

ISSN 1931-3888

Volume 11, Number 1
(Spring 2016)

Copyright © 2016
by Leah Browning, Editor.  

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published in the
Apple
Valley Review
are retained
by the individual authors
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