-Joe Powell Requiem-

one day I’ll vanish from the Earth.

I’ll bite the dust one day;

head to the last round-up.

I’ll croak, I'll buy the farm;

the farm at the last link of the chain,

the exit to eternal plantation.

one day I’ll go to Miami.

I'm anticipated although unknown.

I’ll show-up in colorful shorts,

the calf-high support hosiery 

fitted neatly into their loafers.

this is where the gleaming
fiberglass motor yachts from "Delaware" tie-up

after they’ve seen the gay wharves of Newport.

in the end, they all come to look for Miami.

one day I’ll tie-up
starboard to the glassy "Betty Jean"

namesake to Betty Jean Keenie,

elected Queen of the Hop, who
ran through her early life on granite-

headed Quarry Street, then croaked

an old widow with a smile on her face

in solar-infested Miami.

my old friend Joe will be waiting there;
good ol' Joe Powell, the guy who failed at textile design,
who failed at marriage and the taking of Pleasant Drugs, 

but nabbed a nifty spot on the grassy knoll beneath

a real nice grouping of chrysalidocarpus lutescens.

one day the cold wind will no longer
freeze my skin.

one day I’ll lay down stiff as a starched

french speedo.

I'll vanish from the Earth, one day.

one day I’ll go to Miami.