Cultural Writing. Prose. It's good to see Louis Jenkins again. He writes satire as elegant as Horace but with motors in it and telephones and the North Shore. He and I disagree about practically everything, so how is it that I like his poems so much? But here he is, on the coldest day of the year, talking about gypsies and heaven and radio, making sense -- Garrison Keillor. 'The river wandered away as in a dream, no explanations, no parting words, the door ajar, newspapers blown across the floor...'So do these wonderfully quirky prose poems seem to wander. But when we look up fro the page, we have arrived someplace strange and new -- Linda Pastan.