Thursday, December 6, 2012

Ghost of the Lake Wire Motel

It's as if it never happened.
As if your brains were still there, intact in your skull.

How long has it been?  A year and a half?  Two?
I doubt I'd recognize you now.  You'd be a rotted corpse like any other.

I don't think about you much these days
but sometimes I remember our school-yard conversations about classic rock
or the pranks we pulled on that kid in our gym class in high-school
or that Halloween party in college when you went as the Grim Reaper.
         Or was that him standing behind you?

Shooting your self in the head
alone in a filthy motel room
because of some petty robbery gone bad,
well, it was a pretty dark move for a class clown.

Sometimes I'll see some blond haired, blue eyed Adonis
and I'll expect it to be you
and you'll explain the punchline
but I still wont get it.

I doubt anyone ever will.

So I'll drink one to you, Mike.
Hell, maybe a few.
But you're not around to take my keys when I've had too many.

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