Lunatic or Lover
This wasn’t just dress rehearsal
For the person I’d become.
Sure, the intensity might flee?
Idle it stood, rich and intense, the vision,
I can still see it.
We were in the park, on the Air Force base;
She, a child my age, brown long hair in strings, clinging to her tears
A memory, nearly fresh, some 35 years later.
Her anguish teased out of her, ravaged by thugs-boys,
I could almost taste the salt of her tears,
And in my silence, I could hear so much noise.
To have said and done nothing still feels like my fault.
They wrestled the thick-lensed glasses from her face
And threw them over the 8 foot rusted chain link fence.
My own stomach sick with helplessness.
Words, in my innocence, did not come,
But a lesson of regret did.
Impulsivity is my folly to this day, wild like drums.
I’ll swirl on tiptoe until the music in me comes.
Allows me never again to act the sheepish mute.
Old memories of raw life can morph into something resolute;
I walk through it all, finding it, finding something,
Lifting my face to the sky as if it will answer.
Hearing what my gut tells me, which is both truth and grace.
Even now I cannot sit quietly,
Only the lunatic or lover can be so affected.
I still feel the soft downy whiteness of his quilt,
Wishing he’d pick me, He’ll never know.
But awaking in a morning basked in sun and guilt
Is like a shot of whisky in coffee, it’s just wrong.
If he were dog, I knew, I’d only ever be a flea
Even before a first sip of champagne, I had worth,
It was simply unmatched to his,
Because I’d once failed.
I chose not to be the lover but the lunatic
I’d forever choose to run with bells on,
Rampant and barefoot
Down the alleyways of “sin”
Lunatic or Lover