-No club, Lone wolf /  Requiem

I'd like to think

I had one more of something worthy left in me.

the goods I stashed
beneath the dank, primordial porch
I leave to those of you who appreciate
the solitary recesses in life.

I wanted to be, but failed to be,
a genuine practitioner of rebellion,
transcending mere disobedience, 

to drive a fast machine at a slow,
rumbling pace, cruising the drag
north to the Ponta Delgada, then south
to the China Royal, then north again,
a naked arm extending a blood-colored elbow
from the open window, a duck's ass oiled in place,
the hot-rodder's plaque swinging beneath
a gleaming bumper proclaiming:

"No Club. Lone Wolf".

the scent of olive-oil
I once rubbed deeply into the pocket
I leave to the sensibilities of the left fielders.

the kickstand's resistance

at the inside arch of my early morning foot
I leave to those among you
who recognize the unique tactility in the procedure.

I leave behind another chance at one more time
and wait. are those my socks?

christ,
they've packed my socks.