The last time I saw you was February, 1969.
You surprised me at my apartment.
You were dressed in your white drug store uniform.

I don’t know if the tie was hung on the doorknob,
(or the sock, more likely since I didn’t own a tie)
but my roommates stayed gone that afternoon.

I had been watching you for three years.
You had the most wonderfilled lips,
with a muscle car boyfriend who had been around all the while.

You came in and we drank juice.
We talked in my hippy bedroom about Dylan.
We kissed to “Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands.”

We talked/touched on top of my tee shirt and your stiff nylon
Until your boyfriend sounded long anger in the street.
You looked afraid and pleaded for me to stay while you left.

I wondered about you for weeks – remembered.
The snow melted. I heard you were killed
In your car by a freight train at an unlit country crossing.

Trumpertime Blues

I wrote this shortly after the 2016 election. I just put some nail polish on it and offer it here.

Apologies to Eddie C.

I’m gonna raise a fuss, I’m gonna raise a holler
About a-workin’ all summer just to end up with the Donald.
Every time I call my baby, and ask him for a date
“No dice,” Trumpster said, “you need a lady mate.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do,
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues.

Well my mom and poppa told me, “Son, you gotta make some money,
“Cuz there’s no pensions left, now ain’t that funny?”
Well I didn’t go to work, I was too damned sick.
“You’re fired!” Trumpster said, “You’re a rapist spic.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues

I’m gonna take two weeks, gonna learn me some knowledge
‘Bout the kinda damn fools in the ‘Lectoral College.
Well, I called my congressman and he said “Whoa!
“I’d like to help you son but you’re too broke to vote.”
Sometimes I wonder what I’m a-gonna do,
But there ain’t no cure for the Trumpertime blues.

Quick Memory

A teaching moment.

If you could plant
neat rows of
honey clover
in red East Texas soil,
it would grow
full vocal chords and
lips to whisper at night
about gators and
water moccasins
in the damp bottom lands.
They would be Brenda’s lips.
The voice would be low and
quiet and
husky from whiskey.