in the open window,
her window,
I'd often passed that way.
I forgot she shouldn't
be there--seemed OK.
Looking inside,
there were others with her,
probably Mimi and Richard,
Jimi, Amy,
and ol' Hank, I'd say,
looking all of twenty-seven,
if a day.
But it wasn't her house,
the one I knew,
it was now
a café.
And they were jammin',
that day.
I ordered a meal
from a tall blonde,
the owner, I'd say.
The food was great--
I asked if it was hers,
she showed me the recipe,
and it was blank.
She offered me
a malt of Lethe,
I asked for something in it,
if you know what I mean.
They'd lose their license, she said,
but then, bottle in hand,
(brandy, I'd say,)
"We know who you are,
I guess it would be okay."
But I said no,
not today,
and went on
my way.
https://youtu.be/azYCMyEvp34
Text and image © 2019 by Donald C. Traxler.
