-with once my girl and the near death experience-

               we’ll stop by to pay our respects;

               wear clothes not too often seen by others.

               the line is long, moving at a measured pace

               but its tension is foreign to our sensibilities.

               the bereaved, sitting silently in a row along the wall

               receive us with grace and unfeigned smiles of recognition.

               I’ll say: “sorry for your troubles.”

               you'll follow, simply saying: “sorry…”

               (the word evaporates at your mouth before its end)

               we’re young enough not be seen as rude if we don’t stick around

               and in lieu of lighting-up a couple of smokes on the mourner's front porch

               I’ll say: “let’s get outta here and go to the bar.”

              (we have other friends there and like us they're among the living.)

               you'll nod in silent agreement and through the murmurs of those

               remaining there we'll leave that place.

              

                Fall River / 1970-'73?-1971