A weird string of coincidences and memories…

Gidget meets Gonzo
in the great beyond.

She pulls on the bourbon
while he ponders the surf.

He reloads and she drops to the blanket
on her belly.

That wave he once spotted breaking out West
is the wave she once rode all the way home.

The countries they lived in
looked the same from some angles.

The countries they lived in
get confused all the time.

Gonzo meets Gidget and the sun goes down.
They’ll be starting a fire after dark.

They will keep warm together under the glorious
American sky, stars, satellites, planets, planes.

He’ll pull on the bourbon. She’ll pull on a sweatshirt.
He’ll tell stories she won’t want to understand, and she will do the same.

A man who will not give up his gun
loves a woman who married the king of idiots.
They have a child, not a choice. They live
and let live. They take it one day at a time,
let go and let God, who is their
co-pilot. They are lost and making
record time.

In the next lane
someone offers a phone number for the public to call
when he drives badly.
If you can’t see his mirrors, he can’t see you.
There are always opportunities for experienced drivers.

Many people support our troops.
A few want to bring them home.
A few more want to kill ’em all and let God sort them out.

Her son is a Marine. Her son is an honor student.
His daughter is a hockey player and she’s awesome.
She has a terrorist hunting permit and a pass for the drive-on beach.
He loves his Airedale, his Harley, his Red Sox.

They are all here today: Dave Matthews, Hatebreed,
Alan Jackson, Dale Earnhardt, Kerry Edwards, Bush Cheney.
All these cars and so few names to remember, praise Jesus,
hail Darwin, raise a glass to them all (but don’t hit a bump
and spill your drink).

The people who can see who we are
are the ones we least want to catch up.

If you’re reading this,
you’re too close.