-Lady Madonna comes to Newport-

           she lives in southeastern Florida where it’s warm ––

           in December.

           sounds like a long distance.

           but she visits me on Thanksgiving weekend because, well,––

           what the hell, she’s visiting her family up here, anyway.

           so I book an early afternoon lunch in Newport; a dining room

           at an Inn of outstanding repute overlooking the North Atlantic.

           the afternoon skies are overcast, but the light’s translucent here in paradise.

           the seascape is stepping into its winter portal.

           the frontage to the water clings to a rolling green and the rocky cliff's

           at land's end seem stable enough to hold us for another few hundred years.

           but as we sit at our table (by a window with an ocean view)

           she tells me: "the atmosphere up here is bleak”.

           I'm more than marginally annoyed with her assessment

           but find it common among people who dwell in warm climates.
           maybe they should just stay put. but–– she's a loved one.

           so we lunch in Newport under overcast skies without enough outside sunshine

           to please her and after lunch we have drinks at the bar.

           she's fucked-up with her regional findings,–– but

           she shimmy's like the bushy head of a watered palm-tree.

          (I have the needle-tipped whiskers of an old harbor seal)

           I should count my blessings in good fortune.

           Lady's a jazz vocalist ––

           the front-girl with a band.

           and ––

           she's a board-certified, published "Healer".

           the broken-hearted are drawn to her and.. 

           And –– she heals them!

           become unbroken my lovelies.

           she’s Lady Madonna in Newport and she tells me paradise is bleak.