7605. WITHOUT THAT HAND

WITHOUT THAT HAND

Now, I must stand back, watching the water.

12th Street ain't nothing without you. We used to

stand tall, we used to hold lilies. You'd say they were

the flowers of death, and I'd reply, 'Well, then, let's

live it up.' Meaning 'we ain't dead yet,' the now was

all we had. Their was music from the crappy box again.

-

You'd say 'You're an oxymoron, you know that?'

I'd reply, 'Half again a good as a moron, I'd figure.'

When we called out for another drink, the waiter brought 

a tray? My semblance of blanched Nature now nettles.

-

Two-fifteen, and twenty matchbooks later, we were

still in place; adjusting to only the new light which was

all artificial. Some Druids did a moondance on the

adjoining porch. They looked as natural as sin. A lady

was holding onto the rail. Without that hand  -  yes,

and I swear  -  she'd have fallen right over.

-

The new dawn was late arriving,

and I was twenty-two.