Memory

Footsteps on the hot sidewalk echo;
Past fades into present.
Music~his Ozzy, my Randy~
Reverberates through flesh and bone
And my body gives up an image I can rarely conjure…
His whole face, smiling.

Another July,
When freedom rang because we took it in our hands,
Wresting it from the moment and running
Over the Mountain
And on to the Greyhound bus
With twenty dollars and two packs of Marlboros.

Camping in Albany by the railroad tracks,
Passing a pint of Comfort,
We made plans for California
And drank each other’s presence
As though we knew
We were lilacs.

Brooklyn

Brooklyn

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *