Can't Get It Out Of My Head

Red Rubber Ball

A cure or the way forward

through thorny negotiations

a plan to feed the multitudes bob

in the moat that rings my fortress of sleep. 

I stagger over the drawbridge

to the land where dreams go to die

by a thousand cuts from the first

keen rays of dawn and steal a glimpse

back like Lot’s yearning wife only to see

them all turn to salt before my eyes

save for the pop song Red Rubber Ball

The Cyrkle’s one big hit, summer ‘66. 

I drink my coffee gazing out

on the feeders to a biblical plague

of Farfisa organ under three part

harmony.  A cardinal averts his eyes

while I mouth the words, cursed, helpless:

“now I know you’re not the only starfish

in the sea, if I never see your face

again it’s all the same to me something

something the morning sun is shining

like a red rubber ball.”, a simile

that still holds up after all these years

three minutes and a hook that endure.