We talked of prized cheese
as if cheese was our master
in the great disaster of us,
Then mind spent, W(H)INE spent
on dreams only a fool would leave behind
we passed our own tests on our own
as tides that once found us free
brought us to our knees.
There is a quarter-dance
to a half-scale shuffle as
the vagabond becomes the priest.
It's never easy knowing us
worse yet, when we
attempt to convince ourselves
we aren't like them at all.
It's why we love the old TV shows
predictable in a pause.
Those familiar things the mind sees
while other people are talking.
For instance, right now
I am thinking about my uncle
and the sweet flight of his golf ball
draped against great green.