Year of the Horse

Crazy Horse Waits For Neil Young

Working their way through the Harvard Classics

half moon reading glasses perched precariously

on their noses, dozing off from time to time,

myoclonic twitches jolting hands and feet

that pine to plug in and mark time, dreaming

of that bait shop in the Maldives with a cooler

full of Bud where a man could do some combing

on the beach and wait for the sea to rise

or the pending call that sends them up the attic

stairs on a frantic search for their carry on

luggage and the worn out Converse and that  

lucky tee shirt from Rust Never Sleeps.  Never

a doubt, not one; well maybe a few but

the changes and chords will come wandering back

and the chorus to Fuckin’ Up practically

sings itself yet, in the meantime the checkbook

needs attention and a grandson’s home from Helmand

and isn’t the Lipitor running low? 

Two chapters left in Moby Dick, they eye the

phone convinced tonight’s the night.