Poindexter

Poindexter swivels his index finger swiftly as if a windshield wiper “Look there, and there, and there” Breathtaking, the vista soaring behind my eyelids Cobwebs, thick like drapes, wisps of what was then, anchored to what is now. Still pretentious — as if meaning can be derived by thinking too hard Hippie beads clink as if I’m in a record shop Elton John’s glasses bopping to Crocodile Rock I’m home in my flower power bed nestled near mom Poindexter points to the ceiling above my head over the rainbow lava lamp clumps resemble my dendrites; or is it my soul’s vista? 4/28/2021