by January 25, 2013 0 comments

This kid brother
of a friend
I saw on a park bench
by Boston Common
in the Sixties
and mooching off
his girlfriend
which I did not dig
but had indignation
because the woman
deserved better
and liked to hear me
play sax
as the couple became
flower children
and moved out
to Frisco
and I became
in a sense a Beat
and received a letter
from the woman
who sang folk songs
in a club with Joan Baez
saying she had to leave
the guy
who once beat her up
for drugs
and I sent her money
to return
because I worked hard
to earn money
for music lessons
after school
in an ice cream factory
with rubber boots
under my feet
full of water,
the guy had to go
to Nam
and was missing in action
she shortly married
a musician in my band
and last weekend
invited me to play
in a gig
when memory
was no fault in my life
and she told the audience
in song and parable
about me.

editors note:

Looking for that jazz riff, parable of self? Every poet has one. And, everyone’s a poet. – mh

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