The 70s

“She’s not on the list
because she’s not going to die.”
I told my friend with a straight face.
In the past, my explanations weren’t absurd,
I was elusive while running with a football
Because I was terrified to be hit.
I singed my ears with dirty rock music
Because I enjoyed the sexy sluts in the videos.

After burying her mother and father
Within 7 months of each other,
She smiles as she baby sits
Her oldest son’s newborn twins.
This reversal of inevitable solitude
Didn’t come in a plastic bottle
Much to the let down amazement
Of people who have discovered
Old ideas for new people.

That moment when I’m looking
Into the conclusive horizon,
Without the truth of experience.
The compass pointing North,
And I turn around to see
The dirty oven night,
Proven correct by the exact science
of either the job or mistake of love,
the sunset will succumb
to the otherwise beautiful pollution.