December Eleventh

“no look me, look self”

’twas a plea for the ages

Plato himself
would be proud
if not peevish

and what should i find
but that i was an eyelash

revving in place
unleashed by the bell’s ring

cruisin’ the valley
two Pink Ladies

finger on point
lest we lose
the way home

i recall
one drab Tuesday

Black Sabbath was wailing

your smile stole the day
saying “yes, that shit rocked”

i’m pretty sure dual headbanging ensued
in a peppered Ralphs parking lot
sputtering fumes

where Laurel Canyon & Roscoe B. met

sippin’ on big Cokes
somehow, mine was tiny

like, waaaaaaayyyy smaller than yours was

but i didn’t mind
despite all my theatrics

once we arrived

it was welcome as always

the consummate super-hunk
mister Greg Brady

a song serenading
“wise men never knew . . .”

you wouldn’t believe
how these old Santa Ana’s have shifted

since the hour
when shallow skies whisked you away

and time wandered past

a wilting page whispered
“December eleventh”

as tears welled

but foolish me
fought to refuse them

their pain
passing through me

with truth
from which no one can hide

i know peace has found you

your plight languished long
in the cold light surreal

and lo- “%&$#?@!”

. . . indeed
i just tripped and fell

over that table

tumbled, and hit my head

. . . a goosebump.

as always
i had to do it
just for you

for i knew
how such antics
amused you


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