Randy
He came at night, dinnertime
His car parked down the hill along the roadway,
The snow was falling diagonally behind him,
the flakes lit with the glow of the front porch light.
Come on in, friend.
Where’ve you been, where’re you heading?
Can I get you a drink?
He sits to eat with the family.
Say hi to Uncle Randy, Sophia,
He’s a dirt bag.
We all laugh.
He drinks my scotch and sleeps on the sofa,
And when I awake in the morning he is already gone.
January 31st, 2008 at 10:52 am
God, how’s he do that? such a man of mystery. such a vagabond. a drifter, as it were. the true man, we’ll never know.
but the essence – oh the sweet essence.