Just Another Night
Just Another Night
Martha Reeves is playing in the background and is sweetly keeping company to an ever aging man losing patience for propriety, with the world he inhabits. So many times prior, he’s “has it made” has spit from so many lips, and I in fact have, did, and do…for if they only knew… /I’m drinking beer tonight, and they’re going down fine and easy, and after 50 years I’m still only a willing beginner./
Here’s a toast to “time”, oh ever elusive minx, why do you tease me to catch up to you-and toy me with your history? There’s no touching you with my outstretched fingers, as try I may, I come up only with specualtions for what might be, and memories for what once was….where is the boy of 18, lying on the bed of his room throughout the entire night, kept company by a platter full of vinyl on a slowly spinning turntable, welcoming the dawn with his complete, blessed irresponsibility…where is the man, sipping his Cabernet Sauvignon>non-vintage, and reading Hemingway-a personal, erstwhile guide (you may call me Bawana) unto the imaginings of an African Savannah, on into the days when a man could be bold, strong, and swagger, and not feel ashamed nor embarrassed for the providences bestowed upon him…where am I, but out somewhere chasing shadows in the hills of heather, masquerading as just another grieving “Heathcliff” looking for his halo. (Now, just where could one have placed it?) If you happen to see “her”, ask her kindly if she would give it back. /You see, I have loved her always, though we’ve never met…/
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