Two-thirty a.m.,
cruising my hometown,
feeling despondent vibes
of failed industry
yet familiar comfort
of childhood haunts,
I belonged.
Out with buddy boy, childhood pal,
smoking Marlboro reds
in his high roller Cadillac, white,
smooth cruising, floating ride,
driving circles, squares
around our old neighborhood,
Nancy Sinatra serenading us,
“Sugartown” repeating on loud,
needing this carefree release of
pent up, wicked juju,
masqueraded well below
staged superfluous smiles
He was gambling
and losing all he had,
I was getting high
and losing my mind,
both of us back home
to escape these vices
our bad decisions catching up,
fools to addiction, we were dying.
Chuck Mangione, “Feels So Good”,
old recordings from dubbed mix tape,
open window, release of trapped skeletons,
inspiring belief in better days to come,.
Bygone music, rhythm and lyrics
offering alternatives to troubled life,
and we dreamed of delicious days,
peace, freedom realized
destination in sight
almost there in Sugartown.
