You met him at a dance / leather jacket, Catholic guilt be damned / he pretended to be German for awhile / as he darted about, trying to court you / his cheeks rosy and rough /even then, before the coast chipped away / at the mountain side / with salty waves that carried his body / down down towards gravity's innards / and led you both to being old happy ancient creatures / memory banks jammed chock full of hippy artifacts / and sunsets that might seem juvenile through wise eyes / but as he changed /and his hands lost their grip / you didn't see the leather jacket anymore / you saw his weakness / (some call it love) / and you thought he wasn't Himself / and now your son writes you a Valentine's Day poem / the day after / reminding you that your First Love /was your best love / because he was part of making me, and my brothers and my sister /some of your Best Work / so remember that first breath of air / the first time you danced/ or even the first time he invaded your family home / and prostrated himself before posterity, proclaiming / I am the man of your life / he said this over and over / and he will probably say it long after / your ears stop working / after the waves that crash / on the salted shores of your Beloved Coast
-"At A Dance" By Philip Shearing, 2014.
