against my better judgement -- circa 1988

a reverie about precious things

 

let me tell you the follies of my youth:

you will laugh, saying I am still young. yes,

yes, but a different kind of young, not

as young, for you see, it comes back quickly,

too suddenly. those smoky autumn days,

all those winter mornings when some casual

goddess had come barefoot to shake her pillow

in the night and left the land all feathered;

and the summers, sweet, crazy music bumping

in my head, my hair hanging down my back.

understand that it was most beautiful

to be seventeen.  i had a friend,

a great friend, maybe a little crazy,

we were crazy together, hooting at

the night sky and wading through knee-deep snow,

snickering on the school bus, conspiring

against various villains, my friend and i

together. surely none were more clever

than we: composing nonsense stories and

crystal poems, full of lovely madness.

our midday class was Spanish, and we laughed

a lot; and during our lunch hour, while most

others trudged to the cafeteria,

where the heat and smells were oppressing,

my friend and I skipped across the wide street,

ah, spring, to the incredibly named

market Hinky-Dinky.  first things first,

of course, we checked out the Beatle magazines,

and then, we bought strawberries, gorgeous,

fat, red strawberries, beautiful, bursting

with spring and youth, scarlet and sandy. back

across the street, we sat on newly

verdant lawns and swapped souls over sandy

strawberries.  did we pay for such happiness?

i am still young, i know, but october

is here and it fairly sings with sorrow:

too many miles between my friend

and me,

too many crises, bad days, good days,

raising kids, mulling divorce,

grinding through boring jobs,

but remembering still vibrant dreams.

let the years roll, let the time fly,

but keep your memories sweet and

hold your friends close, as closely as you can