Felt Like Nebraska

Never could fathom the ’70’s
What 60’s Kids admired
Left this old soul bewildered
These eyes always seemed to need the sun
Mediocre music, odd politics
Old Paint horsepower commanded by screaming chickens
Oh, the Pacers that couldn’t keep up
But for that tripartite campout for peace
Those white-washed years are yours
Such conspiracy — felt like Nebraska

Bring me King Elvis
King of Cool — or Dean, if you please
War heroes at the helm
Courage in the courts
Damn right, Topeka — you’re wrong
Steel with Crowns
Jets
Chieftains
Bench seats so we can stay close on cold nights
California Dreaming, it seems…my zodiac sign

the outcome

maybe he’ll choose me

and not spend his paycheck at the bar Friday night

maybe he’ll choose me

and hold my hand in front of his friends

maybe he’ll choose me

and be more proud of my strong, strong intellect and kind, kind heart than my long, long legs and rockstar beauty that fades

maybe he’ll choose me

and listen — finally — to the daggers flying from his lips into my soul

maybe he’ll choose me

and withhold his wandering eyes from these fleeting days that we promised to us, and us alone

maybe he’ll choose me

and fight for me

when I, at last, chose me

because he didn’t choose me

How Dare You Quote Whitman

Sonny, (I can call you that because I’ve grey and am much older than you)

You don’t look like a man who’dve (proper grammar? I surely don’t care)

Said what you said (but you said it, and it stole my heart)

In Chapter 25 (chapter twenty-five., to be precise)

Or even a man who’dve been able to “focus” this long (though you lay claim to seeing its virtue, so I’ll believe you)

Given the amount of time (I’ve spent more than my fair share of it and secretly believe it’s ubiquitous)

And number of exhalations I know (I know) it took away

From your habitual daydreaming (I’ve a penchant for it, too)

I could (sadly, I will) continue sharing unrequited love-jabs here

But it’s late and the (glorious, but damned) mosquitoes have made their entrance

So I laugh (always — most often at myself), and tuck your bookmark (thanks) in my bra strap (ha) instead of your book (your book, bravo) and go inside for the night (and, how dare you quote Whitman?!)

Goodnight (goodnight)