A visit from my mother and my childhood friend, as ghosts. |
Ethereal Muse Dust to dust, Ash to ash. Then what? Come now... Think! My mother is near, though she never was here and in Tenderloin district did sink. Alone in the ground, but, now I hear the sound and the feel of her near me this night. It's a marvel to me; those we seldom did see, know their way to us, once they have died... When I was but a youth, Not so long in the tooth, I played and I fought with a lad. Now Dave is a ghost, long since drowned on the coast. I swear; he's the only male friend I have here. I talk to Dave when I have quiet and peace. He's my friend, my muse, he's my ear. I have never been scared and by him I have dared to become friends with many a ghost. I will see them both soon, my good friends of the tomb. I will talk where it's all dark and quiet. To my mother, Eileen, whom I had not seen in thirty, no; forty-odd years alive. And to Dave, little Dave; the short and the brave. He'd once smeared my young face in dog shite! With chagrin, we poor men, still attached to our skin. Still cut-off from those who we love. I can't wait 'till my kin, my family and friends will have access to me, from above. To a friend they can't lose and a coach, and a muse. One who'll love them through all of their flaws. Perhaps that is our lot, to help those with no plot, to help swamped friends with that they can't handle. Let's not rush that good day, when they put us away in the grave, or an urn on the mantle. Just don't fear death, my friends: With each start comes an end. The finish will be our new path. So, to Mamma and Dave: Thanks for love o'er the grave. You've both shown through your cryptic ascent. That we all, through this life, and on through the next; to move on and to love is our bent. |