Archie was playing the “Tighten Up”
and I was dancing with Minga,
kissing her hot lips, the unnamed stars
dragged their anchors deep within our flesh,
Kennedy was alive in the White House,
his brain still quite intact,
even a short breath gave you enough oxygen
to last a lifetime and then some.
But, Minga took one step sideways,
part of the dance, you know,
and suddenly everything became blurry.
The years have raced ahead.
A frost covers Papalote Mountain now,
a bird stares in the window
as the sky burns in my fireplace.