when we were kings
the kings of pittsburgh
the kings of campus
the laughing cats of jazz
honing our skills over coffee
and chinese food.
you taught me
chicken fried rice
and frank o’hara
but i don’t know what
i ever gave you.
i guess i was good for
a chuckle or two
the way i chased
chicks all over the green lawns
like i’d never seen a woman before.
i was always one
for fawning over all of them
of falling down steps
and getting my heart broken
in big yellow houses
on north craig street.
i want to say you were
always the sensible one
but then again
you had your heart smeared
all over a wall in shadyside
plus i know that isn’t true.
perception is just another lie.
but anyway
we were the kings once
and i wanted to remind you of that
the kings of pittsburgh
the kings of campus
the kings of poetry
and old bookstores
and syrupy pancakes
on warm march afternoons.
now you write me about
your back hurting after
shoveling snow
and i have this letter here before me
telling you all about my gas pains
and how high the electric bills are
in new york city these days.
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3 comments:
Yeah, it's official, you guys'd be a couple of old farts if you weren't so damn sweet!
Very nice piece, Jay ...
Don
it's a strange life, feeling immortal at one stage, and then buying doan's pills in the next chapter.
Brought back some fine old memories, palsy. And i don't care what Don says, we are a couple of old farts.
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