What does it cost a man stuck in the middle of Lost His Way? September 18, 2016Posted by vsap in Blogroll, Poetry, Uncategorized.
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When I hear Jackson Browne sing “These Days” today
The mournful tone is packed with meaning missing in the seventies.
Rivers of doubt cascade through me and I’m a salmon struggling upstream
with more than sixty years in my ruck sack, it’s a woeful burden.
Who can help a man in the middle of Lost His Way?
A black hat and purple bandana make him walk out of yesterday
but to hear him speak you believe he’s fresh as today.
How much would you give to eavesdrop on what he will say?
When Seattle and Rainier were in my rear view I could sigh deeply.
I was driving an Oldsmobile Alero rental from the Portland airport
And I told the state trooper I couldn’t get back to Chicago too quickly
He was from Wheaton, he understood, but I paid a fine before I could deport.
How does a man get stuck in the middle of Lost His Way?
A blue suede vest and chartreuse shirt make him look like a scene from yesterday
and to hear him speak you believe he’s dusting off today.
What’s it worth to eavesdrop on anything he has to say?
When I heard Neil Young sing “Falling Off The Face Of The Earth”, I was there.
Gravity seemed to be the only thing holding me in place
because an incident occurred between me and a company au pair
so you will totally understand why I had to run just to save face.
What does it cost a man stuck in the middle of Lost His Way?
Faded flare blue jeans with a motorcycle chain belt are all in play
and alligator boots kick more colorful than Oxfords in gray.
How’d you feel about eavesdropping on anything he’d say?
When I saw a pair of high chairs in the kitchen I realized the world had changed.
My wife was seated, and calmly pointed to the bedroom, “They’re all yours.”
I was pretty sure I was in the wrong place, things were rearranged,
but I knew when I sobered up I’d remember where life took its detours.
It started to feel like our time began again September 9, 2016Posted by vsap in Blogroll, Poetry, Uncategorized.
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“Don’t try me. That last good nerve is gone,”
She glared like I was an unrepentant child.
I lit a cigarette thinking what else could go wrong?
A day was beginning and it was going wild.
Years before we would sit on a park bench
Arm wrestle over religion and politics casually.
Now anger has trumped common sense
And we’ll be another statistic, a marital casualty.
Puffing out smoke rings I couldn’t help but smile,
And she flared, “So you think this is funny, boy?”
I replied, “You know I’m with you, I’ll go the next mile.”
She was skeptical like me agreeing was a ploy.
Putting out the cigarette on the bottom of my shoe
I lifted my hands in mock surrender hoping for a break.
She tilted her head like “what are we supposed to do?”
“Breakfast!” I call, “We need to eat, for Pete’s sake!”
Tension broke and I heard a taxi honk behind us.
She gave a begrudging smile and I held out my hand.
I was about to open the door when I saw the 151 Sheridan bus
And she said, “Let’s grab the bus and ride it down to Grand.”
The cabbie was pissed, but we boarded laughing.
We passed Water Tower and bounced down Michigan.
She said, “No time for this sacrilegious pouting,”
And it started to feel like our time just began again.