A Spell, A Rebel Yell

May 28, 2010
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I could write a poem that
No one could tell was for you,

The harsh shivers crawling down my spine
As your whiskey sighs roll over my face
Colder than rubbing alcohol
Before an injection at the doctors,
Cigar burned into the signature
Red and black flannel,
You wear every Sunday
High life in hand, watching the Eagles game

I might mention your eyes,
Every week imitating Roy G Biv
After a vacation around the Main street pubs
Or hair as blonde as the gold leaf,
Shinning around the band my mom gave you,
Still settling around your 4th finger

I’ll talk about the day you taught me baseball,
The mid-July aqua sky,
Smiles creeping across my face,
The laces connecting with the
Louisville on the ash wood,
Ball drifting into the sky

Like the smoke drifting
Out of the tail pipe on your
Rusted V-twin Yamaha
As you pull out of the driveway
Looking for another Main Street,
And different gold leaf to
Keep your finger warm

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