9562. ME USED TO BE

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.