Saturday, August 3, 2024

Of all the gin joints May 2012


 
Two days after I recall it all,

 embroidered in my brain like a bad tattoo,

 never to get removed,

had I wanted to,

where she/we/they sat and

the crispness of the bar,

the bartender,

 and the couple from God knows where

 seated side by side with us,

the same place we came once before,

 later, darker, inside rather than out,

not Paris, although she wore blue,

maybe the couple from Eastern Europe,

we, from just up the block,

the eerie sense of Deja Vu

as if I should have known

 what would come to pass,

how I acted already drunk,

 like a giddy bride,

a birthday boy,

a bumbling idiot with card and candy

 she thought I was crazy to bring

 since this was my belated

birthday bash not hers,

 destined to become a disappointment,

 all of the gin joints etc,

and yet, I felt like Rick

email to Al Sullivan

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