ME USED TO BE
Me used to be lost guy. Me.
Like the frieze of a sedge all
coming down, I got out of there
for free. Finding out later, of
course, that free doesn't really
cut it unless you're willing to
give up a lot. Which I was so it
didn't much matter. No more
dining at Fresno's or coffees
at Mars. Forget the booze and
the cars. Thus it was, life has
to become a gentle compromise.
Someone sent me, once, pictures
of Annalee topless. That was OK,
and she didn't mind. Exhibitionists of
that nature look for such opportunities.
Aghast at nothing, they thrive. She
ended up somewhere, far off. I lost
touch, but at least I've got these
photos. Gentle compromise, again.
Me used to be a marksman - at the
rifle range I could shoot the whisker
off a running cat. Then, slowly, I began
to lose my sharp vision. The eyes age
as the life runs on. My only hope now
is that the bullet will go right through
its ears, and the cat will live on. That
leaves out a lot, for I don't think
they have empty heads.