The Doors
Young visitors
to his grave
at Pere Lachaise
wonder why
an old chick like me
gets up on his tomb-
stone which is littered
with wine bottles
stuck with flowers
and written upon
with loving graffiti
to take a photograph.
They stare,
hide smiles,
not knowing that
while my babies slept
I played The Doors,
dreamed of un
buttoning my blouse
and walking with Jim
down the dark streets
of Jacksonville.
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