sitting in a booth
back in the corner reading
and biker beers me
thirty-nine years later dead
but i did buy him his back*
*(Harold “Harry” “Ratt” Krohn so much older than I – April to my July. Wins our last boat race. Gotta go make phone call. And get a 1.75 of Morgan. The rest of the poems hide out at November 7, 2016. Don’ rest. No Peace. You gotta pitchfork to drive!)
Got Bureaucrat Blues;
want no more “Agency” rules:
Meed-ja full of fools!
Woman One tells me
(because her then-alive husband was
Army (oxymoron alert!) intelligence,
Belgium has no known border with a
fiction called Luxembourg.
Woman Two tells me
no, no never, not even ever
will a white periwinkle plant
throw pink or purple
flowers – they be separate species!
(like girrafes or gyraffes?)
She was not amused.
MA (English) ‘professor’
at the Orlando Junior College, adjunct
it later out-turns
who tooled ’round Snaffurd
on her pale blue Vespa and never
again looked left as I sat near my
white and purple posies from the same stems
reading somedamnbookorother.
Both, of course, were and I suspect still
are ‘corporate mad as March hares
(with due apologies to rabbits everywhere.)
When you have to say
“Gin, not vodka,” you are not
ina martini bar!
Ginformation is
that happy state when the world
knows just what you mean!
richwrapper 