ON A GREY AND DRIZZLY DAY

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

November 22nd
a grey and drizzly day in Tucson
befitting the mood of the land
as I watched the somber tributes
to the fallen leader on CNN
fifty years goes by in a heartbeat

And Jackie, on automatic pilot,
in shock--she flew in the rear
of Air Force One next to his casket--

And watching her in her pink coat that day
for some reason made me think of 
that nude poster of her 
I first saw back in the seventies
pasted to the ceiling of this bar 
called My Brother's Place
that no longer exists 

The original had turned up in
Andy Warhol's crap after he passed
and it was even signed by her
To Andy, with enduring affection
what's THAT about, man?
don't even want to know

Found a copy for sale on eBay 
at a beginning bid
of fifty bucks
(man her legs were long)
and I thought what a conversation piece
 to have on your wall
or would it be sacrilege
to remember the Queen of Camelot that way?

Hell 
she was the ultimate opportunist
parlaying that First Lady gig
into a stint as trophy wife to 
a Greek Billionaire so butt-ugly
it almost made me cry
it was such a blatantly 
such a cynically 
materialistic move
as if to say look what I went through world
I deserve this
and don't you say nuthin'
her signal that innocence was now lost
and we should follow suit

Still 
watching that old news footage
I had to wipe away a little tear 
for her 
in her pink hat
for what she once was
for a time and a place that once was
(for what we all once were)
that exists now in a land called
Nevermore

DANCER

with real toads--d'Verse Poets Pub


She was the pride of the neighborhood,

sitting pretty on daddy's knee--

now she wonders how she got from there to here

when the world looked the same each day,

the changes like time-lapse photography.

But she's got a date with Jimmy tonight,

and everything's gonna be alright.

Bobby sox queen,

young boy's dream,

twistin' the night away

under the shadow of the red menace,

till queen of Camelot

sees it all blow up in her face...

the illusion that we are growing

toward something other than death quickly dispelled.

Doin' the frug and the monkey and the funky

chicken, while sacrificial lambs are led to slaughter...

the domino theory collapsing under its own weight

as overgrown boys play games with real men's lives.

But she's got a date with Jimmy tonight

and everything's gonna be alright.

Dirty dancing, disco inferno,

and win one for the Gipper--

slashing social programs like Jack The Ripper,

in the land of the free and the home of the Atlanta Braves.

Now, some of the men still stare,

but when she looks in the mirror

it's getting harder to save face...

it all went by in the blink of an eye,

from cold war to hot flashes.

But she's got a date...

Rumbling through the desert night,

Jimmy riding shotgun in the Pathfinder--

she stops along the back road,

and when she is ready, wraps her lips

around his shaft... and swallows.

"Jim Beam you're a HELL of a lover," she gasps,

then caps the bottle and sets him back onto the seat--

turns up the radio and begins to dance in the moonlight.

And somewhere in the night

the KILLER still wails GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!

and dreams of the budding nipples

of his child bride

as he slugs down a six pack of Ensure,

defiant till the bitter end.

She sways to the music and

the world goes rushing by as it always does--

but she is happy now...

thinking only of how this unbearable lightness of being

can be reconciled with a heavy heart.