Spearing a cherry with a cocktail straw
is what I think of when I read about coring
in Oil Notes, how the geologist must guess
where and precisely how deep the formation
or risk wasting the diamond-toothed core barrel,
which cuts a sample from the rock, a cylinder
telling a story millions of years in the making.
I think of my father treating me to dinner,
then acting surprised when who but Tracey
should be at the restaurant, how we stumbled out
without paying after ordering half the menu,
them beyond drunk, me beyond caring; think
of her wedding ring, hard and expensive and
hollow. That was the first and last time I saw her.