I lay down on my living room floor
Convinced that the world would end.
A crisis off Cuba with missiles in route.
Yes, I am a Child of Then.

A lady in pink with blood on her dress.
A President shot in the head
I remember where I was exactly that day
Yes, I am a Child of Then.

Police battle Blacks, Watts is in flames
Protests rage on without end.
King is dead at the hand of a bigoted man
Yes, I am a Child of Then.

Camelots heir sought to bind up the wounds
Then Sirhan Sirhan shot him dead.
Bobby bled out on the kitchen tiled floor
Yes, I am a Child of Then.

Asian girl running, naked, on a dirt country road.
A Viet Cong man shot in the head
Fifty Eight Thousand names on a wall
Yes, I am a Child of Then.

Reading a book in the sun
can get you so absorbed in
what you're reading
that when you look up

it's as if everything around you
were new.

You're staring at yourself
For the first time wondering:

Is that really me?

Is this my life?

Surely not.
I belong in this book.

I suppose that's what
happened
to Don Quixote.

I hear a soft woof.
Bleary eyes peer at the clock:
3:03 a.m.
But time is of no matter
to a watchdog.
He stands stiff
ears perked
starting at the window.

The noise he makes
remind me of the Cowardly Lion:

Rrrrhuff
Softly
RrrrrrrrHUFF

He warns an imaginary intruder
or perhaps a neighbor
that he won't stand for their
feet near our sidewalk.

And although the danger isn't real
I'm grateful and proud.
Tell him he's a good boy,
but to get back in bed.

I was robbed once.
That's why I got him.

in the quiet moments after
dust has settled
passions have been felt
looks have been exchanged ...... creeps in the longing

emotions acute take their own pound of flesh
appetites are lost
breathing is shallow
colors are muted ...... muffled are the heartbeats

reunions become life-affirming events
spirits are higher
laughter is joyous
love is intense

Solution is obvious:  you.

I want to not know
where I end and you begin
do you understand?

Not thrice
Not once
Twice you said it
It's a silly thing with me,
To hear someone call to me, address me
So to only hear you say it twice
My namesake rolling out of your lips
With that perfect way you speak
Twice
How often I talked of you, and relished in your magnificence
How often I called to you
And you did twice to me
Was this a hint from the beginning?
No, I'm simply being daft
Yet I can't help but wonder
Just how often you spoke of her
Absolutely, positively, more than twice

I am not the one for you,
Nor you the one for me.
We are not each other's halves,
No puzzle piece or key.

I am not your mother's love,
Nor you my perfect mold.
My heart is not your tambourine
To play as we grow old.

We are not the perfect match,
The blue of oceans deep.
When will I confess to you
The love I cannot keep?