Somehow, some way, in the seventies
a friend and I found ourselves
in a room with a spaced out pretty
hippie flower girl, who reminded me
of the song, I Love The Flower Girl.
I can’t remember the
how of that situation,
how we got there or
what city we were in
I’m thinking Boston.
My brain was too dumbed
down by Budweiser beer,
back in my wasted and
excessive drinking days
before the k energy took all
that irrevocably away.
I do remember I sensed
my friend was poised to
try to take advantage of her
in her vulnerable,
spaced out state.
Despite my beer-clouded
brain then, I remember telling
her I would protect her.
My friend, acting like a
POS, touched her leg and
she freaked out and
ran to me.
We talked for awhile
and seemed to have the
possibility of starting a
romance despite the
fact we were both blitzed.
And we decided to meet
in a park the next day,
like the Flower Girl song
where the guy sees the
flower girl sitting in the park
except she was a no show,
which might have been
for the absolute best
even though she rained on
my flower girl song dream.
But thinking of what might
have been and listening to
that upbeat song right now
makes me surprisingly happy,
and for a moment, I feel like
I’m back in my twenties,
like the way writing poetry
often makes me feel.
Bob Boyd