No, no, it isn't like it's Summer, but these
words make it seem so. Light, fluffy stuff.
Butterflies and Ambiguities, that would
give it a whole different tug. It was
only yesterday, I was at the train depot
in South Amboy, just standing. The
Landmark, a local tavern I once knew,
was closed up and for sale. Pity. So much
the memory there. Hurts and remembers.
Butterflies and ambulettes. Getting trounced
by Bikers in the bar-side parking lot, having
to look for glasses and teeth (not mine, no)
worrying about them coming back with a
gun. 'Glove-box serenade' it used to be
called. Oh the shits I once lived through.
Some are dead and some are still living.
Batter-fries and no regrets.