The Promise

Sometimes love is not my first impulse, guts and bandages a lethal cocktail for the heart; when good-times have lost much their appeal, one never seems too old for heartbreak-- A great deal of my life spent in hospitals and transit vehicles, counseling the poor and possessed; I think, for me a hillside as did Frances, were those friends not so difficult to pin down most everything now-days subjugated by lawyers—or a lounge chair at the foot of an old fig tree in my yard (we have a shady bet between us about longevity) my personal preference to warning bells and the hiss of fake air, while his aversion to ants vs firewood-- we have a promise.