Everyone Loves a Dead Drummer
At age 55
I press my nose
To the bark of a tree
I place my tongue
To the underneath of an Oak leaf
I rent next to a lake
I like my back against a wall
Life grabs at one another
For me, it was at a party
Where she said she’d been re-married
Stopped writing
And was happy
Finally
She noted her gain of weight with a shrug
Saying, “The forest was still in need of healing.”
She wondered if I’d still been trying
Or, if maybe, I could use
A special spell that she’d discarded.
I replied, “I think so.”
And she said with a wave of her hand
Over my head
“Everyone loves a dead drummer.”
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