Jazz Music poetry Short Stories Uncategorized Urban Legends writing


the poet in me says
lover man
to hell with this grind
the wasted time
why can’t we
just run away
to aruba

pack a bag for every child
we’re never going to have

buy two one-way plane tickets
hop on board with jive passports
newly assumed names
wearing oversized hats
me in garbo sunglasses
you wearing a camera about your neck
with no film inside
as there will be no return trip
to have the pictures developed

we’ll sit on the beach
for the rest of our lives
with a ukulele that plays itself
an endless joint
and a bottomless margarita
its glass rim never shy of salt

i’ll wear a yellow string bikini
not giving a damn about my scars

you can make dean martin eyes at me
all you like
sing off-key love songs
into campfire light

and when we die
on the same day

hermit crabs
will drag us back into the sea
everything came from

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