POEM - Marsh’s Favorite Song

I.

The dusty wind always blows

Across the almost town of Hesperia

Gateway to the high desert

I was stationed there

Trying to spread the word

Bring religion to the badlands

Find in myself enough humility

Not to toss my bike in the canal

And spend my days in eternal cursing

Of the omni-directional wind

This day was a good day

Filled with softer breezes

My attention was grabbed by a garage sale

More specifically by a large black case

I was cautious and tempered

“Is there a guitar in that case?”

            “Sure is”

“How much you asking?”

            “Twenty-five”

“I’ll be right back, have to get my wallet.”

            “Who are you guys anyway?” he asks

Of the two of us in white shirts and black name tags

“We’re missionaries.”

            “I tell you what, it’s yours

                        Consider it my donation to God.”

II.

Once upon a time there was a guitar

It was my guitar

I got it for free at a garage sale

From a nice man

Who wanted it to go to a good home

I learned to play the guitar

Simply, just the chords

And just the easy chords

The G the C and the A

The F the D and the E

Nothing too hard, but it was music

Then I began to write songs

To play on my beloved guitar

                        And they were AWESOME!

The best one I ever wrote was about lunch

More specifically my friend’s lunch

It’s about Marsh’s lunch

And it is his favorite song to sing

            When Marsh eats his lunch

III.

Marsh and I were roomates in Palmdale

We lived in this old guys house

The old guy still lived there

He was something like 90 or 92

It was nice and he left us alone

Mostly sat in his room and waited

Waited to join his wife on the other side

She had recently passed and he was sad

For us the place was entertaining

The cupboards were stock with his favorites

Pickled pigs feet and Pepsi Free

The Pepsi Free would sit out in a cup until flat

On purpose, it was how he liked it

Marsh liked blue Kool-Aid, cold

            He affectionately called it Smurf Piss

We both like Peanut Butter, and ate it often

IV.

The song just happened

            Formed in my brain like a worm

Wiggle down to my hand

            And crawled out across the paper

It called itself “Smurf Piss, Pepsi and Peanut Butter”

“I love to eat it every day/

            And every night I say OK, to . . ./

Smurf Piss, Pepsi and Peanut Butter”

“Sometimes I eat a whole bunch/

            Sometimes it eat it just for lunch, it’s . . . /

Smurf Piss, Pepsi and Peanut Butter”

On and on it went

            Marsh and I harmonizing the hook

Pickled pigs feet souring in the cupboard

Embittered by the obvious snub