Trying to
find the extraordinary
in the ordinary
platitudes and attitudes
similes and facsimiles
missiles and whistles
distilled Russian Stoly vodka
and tablets of blessed thistle
what makes somebody
go out and buy a pistol
why not buy a guitar
instead and listen to
some records by the Doors
or the Grateful Dead
they're groovy
pimps and whores need each other
or maybe what they really need
is a good father and loving mother
at least I do
I guess or I believe that
mental abuse and anguish
is a strong poison and
can lead to a head in bandages
the emergency room is filled with
people broken and bashed,
battered
often by their partners
who operate on the principle
that the last straw has crushed
the Camel's back
and Scottsdale Princesses
are passionately attacked
by what they thought were loved ones
or their significant others
what they might consider to be their marriages
of the present and the future
but they are populated by
jealousy and control freaks
now spinning and spun out of control
playing hide and seek with honesty
we want to believe in change
but it can be slow
these are not often folk
who can nurture three days in a row
How many will go back into these
relationships, trying to forget the pain
and may believe that their troubled partners
will miraculously overnight become sane
better take the number to the 24/7 hotline
and put it where you can find it
in your wallet, in your purse, or in a locket
around your wrist or necklace
could be needed in case there develops a
pattern to these evil deeds
yeah, this could be the insurance that
guards against a long black hearse
Meanwhile we're
driving to Ship's coffee shop
on Wilshire and Westwood
at quarter to four a.m.
one of us black and blue with bruises
some of them hidden by long sleeves
saved by a text message and the doorbell
ordering a dolphin free tuna melt
and three scoops of vanilla ice cream shake
comfort food sure tastes good
each table has its own toaster
now that's a feeling of endowment
that you can boast of
a luxury you can't fake
bottomless cups of coffee are poured
by professional waitresses their shirt pockets
emblazoned with doilies with lace
and the taxi drivers at the counter
look like bored and foreign hustlers
some young people dressed to seduce
pour in through the double doors
alive with excitement
they've just come from a dance club
where they have found some friendly shoulders
with which to rub
gonna leave a good tip
it's an investment in dharma
Lord knows I could use some good karma
and before the night's over
I'll pray for peace on our earthly plain
and remember Kathy who just up the street
by the Santa Monica bus stop
once danced in the rain.

the apache kid