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Poem

Word Sonata in B Flat (in 5 Movements)

You know exactly what you’re doing.
You sit in that short red skirt, and 
Cross your shiny tan legs, there. Now you
Lean over with full cleavage exposed,
And partake in another draw of smoky seduction;
You can see the dollar signs in my knowing eyes,
And I can see lovely times at poolside,
In your short skirt, and dark glasses.

So cheers! To us, just a couple of cool cats,
Two old hippies,
With lemon drinks, glass bongs, and feathered toys,
Conversing wordlessly in eye language,
Under the searing unzipping sun,
Embracing the approaching nakedness.

Laying out in a chaise lounge with white noses,
Just drying out our souls and bodies,
Drying out our differences with the holding of a draw.
Pass it over here sweetie.
I feel it too, as you sit there,
Staring at me like I’m the package you were expecting,
Last week when the mails didn’t come through,
Due to the storm, and the mud and the misery.

I enjoy women like you.
As you sit there in your short red skirt.
There is a mysterious gloss covering everything you say,
A gooey gloss that smells of electrical wiring,
Something that might make a person sick,
Or maybe bring back a stubborn memory you forgot about 
For decades, because you were lost, 
Lost inside a rolled-up carpet,
An old rain-ruined rug from 1958, or so,
When times in the backseat meant something to a person.

Now look at us, just a couple of cool cats,
Two old hippies,
Bored and resigned,
Passing reefer until the stoned moment is realized.
Yes, just sitting here looking at you,
I can tell,
You know exactly what you’re doing.

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