Poem time Pt. 2
Thought I'd throw up another poem I wrote years back.
Oceans
Pops rolled out of here about a week ago,
and I found myself missing him
like some kind of gay superman.
Not that I'm gay or superman,
but it must be nice to roll down the hills
driving a brand new Lincoln,
white with custom leather seats
and a stereo that didn't work.
He drove to see the ocean,
and I was left in my oceans.
Maybe he'll do it again
and this time I'll go.
We'll head out of Knoxville,
I-40 East, windows rolled down,
cruising like pimps.
We'll cross the mountain,
hit Asheville, N.C. and the local
Dairy Queen drive-in
and order chocolate shakes.
Somehow my shake won't be cold
and I'll have to slurp it down like
a glass of chocolate milk.
Maybe I'll raise hell,
and he'll raise hell,
and we'll raise hell together,
Because the times they aren't changing,
We are.
Halfway there I'll see a blonde North Carolina girl
and I'll aspire to get her in my bed.
Pops will aspire to get her into his heart.
The times aren't changing.
We are.
And when we get to the ocean
I'll know it's not the end of the rail for this
locomotive line we call friendship.
We'll walk out on a pier
And see the ocean.
Maybe it's blue,
Maybe it's a gray,
Maybe it's pitch fucking black,
I don't know.
He'll sit down.
I'll sit down beside him.
A whistle will cry
then I'll sit and wonder if it's a freighter,
but imagine it as more.
What I don't know.
That's for me to find out.
And when I do Pops will be romantic.
I will be realistic.
Together we will be drawn into
a hip carma that only friends can share.
It's like a sutra of the sunbowl.
A goddess of our whims.
Maybe Pops doesn't understand me,
and I don't understand him.
But at least we have a whole ocean to piss in.
Oceans
Pops rolled out of here about a week ago,
and I found myself missing him
like some kind of gay superman.
Not that I'm gay or superman,
but it must be nice to roll down the hills
driving a brand new Lincoln,
white with custom leather seats
and a stereo that didn't work.
He drove to see the ocean,
and I was left in my oceans.
Maybe he'll do it again
and this time I'll go.
We'll head out of Knoxville,
I-40 East, windows rolled down,
cruising like pimps.
We'll cross the mountain,
hit Asheville, N.C. and the local
Dairy Queen drive-in
and order chocolate shakes.
Somehow my shake won't be cold
and I'll have to slurp it down like
a glass of chocolate milk.
Maybe I'll raise hell,
and he'll raise hell,
and we'll raise hell together,
Because the times they aren't changing,
We are.
Halfway there I'll see a blonde North Carolina girl
and I'll aspire to get her in my bed.
Pops will aspire to get her into his heart.
The times aren't changing.
We are.
And when we get to the ocean
I'll know it's not the end of the rail for this
locomotive line we call friendship.
We'll walk out on a pier
And see the ocean.
Maybe it's blue,
Maybe it's a gray,
Maybe it's pitch fucking black,
I don't know.
He'll sit down.
I'll sit down beside him.
A whistle will cry
then I'll sit and wonder if it's a freighter,
but imagine it as more.
What I don't know.
That's for me to find out.
And when I do Pops will be romantic.
I will be realistic.
Together we will be drawn into
a hip carma that only friends can share.
It's like a sutra of the sunbowl.
A goddess of our whims.
Maybe Pops doesn't understand me,
and I don't understand him.
But at least we have a whole ocean to piss in.