When you write my biography, do
It in a song lyric by Dylan or Seeger
Accompanied by a blues piano.
Throw in a saxophone’s
Squiggle and the shimmy of
A twenties flapper anesthetized
By pink gin.
Add the optimism of Whitman and the
Purr of a kitten.
Set it against the solitude of a
Trappist monk’s smoldering thoughts
On the feast of St. Jude.
In my middle years, segue to the tremolo
Of a bluegrass mandolin
And let me have a few hours
In the amber grasses of a Kansas field,
Where a German farmer
Once grew wheat.
And lay me down in the shade
Of a weeping willow, not far from a
Lake, where I may hear the
Cries of loons drunk on the beauty
Of a kaleidoscopic crimson twilight.