Not in the face, Drew!
A fine "how do you do?"
to the elevator of the sport
the man with fusion reactors
in his moisture-wicking shorts
such a way to greet the savior of the sport
such a way to show gratitude
then there was Mike Moh
planting one on Bradley Pittcairn,
a fine way to do,
then to be slung nonchalantly
into the side of a nondescript Mopar.
Where was I?
Oh yes: the rotting Druid
and his morose singing.
"In the face, Teddy".
How he remembered his bygone youth,
misspent summers at the trestle
and all the yelling
all the misbegotten Jello shapes:
the visages of days wasted,
growing taller little by little,
nose already pointed at the sky.
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