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.”