Friday, November 7, 2008


I wish it would leave me alone.
It's been over three years now.
But it comes and goes with ease,
Son of the morning's first breath,
The wink of the evening's last song,
The alarums of a summer storm,
Gloating in the bitter nooks of the words unheard,
Resting in the rotting corpse of the stillborn smile.

The NewsHour with Jim Lehrer

Is it better to pretend, my friends,
that the bugle never stirred my dreams?
I can, if you insist, my dear, concur.

I can send them off tonight, if you wish.
There's not much use for their kind where we belong.
It's time for you and I to meet the crew
Where no one cares nor speaks of their return.

Let us proclaim they have our full support,
Let us thank them for their service, and no more!
Our drinks are here, the food is on its way,
Their fates are not my burden to endure.

We can discuss the facts and figures all night long.
A cappuccino would no doubt cut to the heart
Of the matter we have pondered while we wait,
Whether it's time to buy, sell, or get lost,
Whether the black ships sail again at dawn.

The labyrinth we have built demands its dues.
The roll call does not beg for my consent.
The names, the smiles, the silence break my stride.
They bring me home.


It's been twenty years since
The beginning of the end,
But I can't seem to leave
This place.

The pace is slower,
No place to go, really.
Youth from every quarter
Scurry by en route
To field hockey practice,
Or perhaps for a good romp
In Siberia.

No sense concealing
My status.
The preppy uniform
Gives me away in a sea
Of blue sweatshirts
All issued by Blaine I'm sure.

The football team
Looks a bit scrawny
On average,
With at least one set of Michelin tires
Skewing the lineup a bit.

Familiar faces give way to
Familiar names and
Strangers stand in
For old friends.

The old buildings remain,
Some gave way to open fields.
The smoker's corner,
By the cemetery,
Is fenced in and forgotten,

Neuhaus Chocolate, or a panegyric on the Pixies

Each morsel a bead of sweat
Snaking its texture along the edge
Of the string that shivers
Off the headstock of a Fender.

Is she drunk on her own groove?
I know I wish I'd been there,
But their unassuming looks,
The thump, holler, shriek,
Punctuated by an all-American smile,
Will forgive the recent date of my arrival.

Commentary on the Beatles,
Squealed as the coda to an otherwise
Controlled burn of kinetic mayhem.

Laugh while you can stand it, Kim.
The grain will memorialize
The conventions of your indomitable legend.
Charles, cliché becomes your trajectory,
But the wake lingers, with Joey in the lead
And David, oblivious to the frey, in the back.