California Copacetic

The CV2 2-Day Poem Contest, is an annual event put on by the Winnipeg-based journal, Contemporary Verse 2. A list of 10 words, often made up of archaic ones, is released on the specified Friday in April, precisely at 12am-midnight, from which point you have 48 hours to create a poem containing each word, in the form given by the contest organizers.

It's Monkeys in a Barrel on speed; the most fun a poet and lover of words can have... while simultaneously having an aneurysm!

Here is my entry from 2017. I've set the 10 given words in bold in order to help the reader find them... although, I've no doubt you would have picked out "absquatulated" on your own.

California Copacetic

This daguerreotype exists from 1839,

after he grew his whiskers long to keep

the gnats from gnawing at his face.

You can see that tarnished edges frame

a handsome silhouette, emerging evidence

those rougher cuts of cloth he wore fit fine.

Yet still, he's unaware his life's unfolding

begets a certain curiosity a century or so

beyond the capture of this image.

What options does a man consider when

accusations—bogus bunk—are made?

A murder (he did not commit) might

land a man in dank detention until

a noose should stretch his neck to snap!

To avoid bombastic court proceedings at

all cost was deemed the most judicious

course to take, and so John Adams slung

a stippled shotgun round his shoulder

and moved on. He gave up fitting boots

and shoes to East Coast women’s most

elegant hooves and absquatulated before

the Boston Watch could bring him in for

questioning. He’d head out west. A multitude

of men—49ers—might increase his chance

of reaching the Sierra Nevada range under

cover of anonymity. Once there, alone

and fragile as a foundling, John Adams

began to build the necessary wits and skills

to start his life anew. And here, this story

takes a familiar turn for children of the '70s

who begged to watch The Life and Times

of Grizzly Adams before bed. The real-life

mountain man was dead at 48. (We thought

he’d live forever.) I like to think of him alive

and up there still, becoming old and grizzled

(much the way we all succumb to age) with

a receding hairline. Unroofed? Perhaps, but

not unhinged. He's enjoying retirement in

worn, well-fitted boots, without a care at all

to bring him down from his mountainside

cabin. I imagine he’s up there now,

sipping a cold one from a local brewery

and feeling very California copacetic.

*Bonus! The image found through the Library of Congress Archives is actually titled: "Grizzly" Adams, full-length portrait, walking with grizzly bear named Ben Franklin] / Eastman-Loomis, S.F.