Strangers in the Night

Strangers in the Night

Sinatra’s sho-be-do-be-do enters
Around 2:15 this afternoon. Instant
Throat-lump and the memory of Dick
Rochow snapping a knee-high lacrosse
Ball that splashes in the lake sixty
Three yards away after only one bounce.

The lump persists, traveling to your lamenting knotted
Breath. HD’s inner tear wells up, covered
By a springtime sniffle. Pliant leather
Doused with cool water that flies
In your eyes as you try to fling one the
Length of the yard. But not today: that was

Twenty-five years ago you sop. Persistent
Lyrics “are so enchanted” twisting you toward
Another completed week in this
Year’s version of hell. The glint of happy
Memories provide today’s escape,
But the continual yearning to fill yesterday’s

Dreams will not be quenched by tomorrow’s
Disappointment. “You’re only as happy as your
Least happy child.” That better not be true
You think, with more than a glimmer of guilt.
Children, the last uniting theme, will not
Know their parents friends who are scattered
Like the memory of another melody: the vessel-rupturing
Bathing-suit clad version of Haydn’s trumpet concerto
Squeaked out of the red-faced horn man as his
Wife Gwen turns the pages. This is what happens
When your best friends are the childhood memories

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