Fair Warning
Eyelashes. The stoic. Fuzz. Fedora. Specs. Curls.
The massive round house belonged to a friend’s girlfriend’s parents.
I’d never met them. I barely knew her, for that matter.
The band made the weird curved windows shake
with “Abacab” and “Money” and “Subdivisions.”
Impossibly cool in this suburb of a suburb.
People were making out in the billiard room,
making out in the hot tub out back,
making out on any reasonably flat surface.
The heck with that.
Sex is fleeting, prog rock is forever.
/ / /
9 August 2023
Charlottesville VA
This is poem 19 in a series called 50 Days Till 50 Years. I’m writing a poem a day between now and my 50th birthday. I’m going to try to focus on memories of my past, and the people who inhabited it.
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