Waiting for a memory. We get what we deserve.
Waiting for a memory.
You came to me in a yesterday memory and you told me Johnnie. Can’t wait no-more. You have too much to love and to embrace. I’m just a heavy burden for you and I cannot wait for you no-more. The men who love the lakes, the sea, the highway and his damn words. Johnnie, a poet are blinded by tomfoolery. Words don’t teach us joy. Real kiss and embrace do.
I went to Port Austin alone. Me and my vodka and juice came to write for my beloved lake and you.
I wrote.
“Jenny, dear Jennifer, my love
I need to tell you and
I cannot tell you.
I want to tell you I miss you and
my words are wandering off into to the kind Lake Huron calm water.
Fall is coming.
The leaves are beginning to turn colors, and my heart is heavy with regret.
I miss you my beautiful Jenny.
My darling, I’m here at Port Austin and you are not with me.
I need you; I don’t need you.
Old Poet had learned Hemingway wishes and regret.
To had tasted love sweetness and was just.
A wisp of a dream that could not be held.
I love you my dear Jenny,
I love you face and your gentle hands.
I love you wild eyes and hungry to dance and laugh.
Today me and my Lake Huron are waiting for no-one.
Just old friends are here. Journals, old books and pen.
Johnnie waiting for you, dear Jenny in Port Austin and
the coldness of Winter is coming.
I’m so damn cold and lonely without you.
Sometimes old men learn. We have our vodka and juice.
And a thousand memories and places we cannot find no-more.”
I sat in the Port Austin coffee shop, and I watch the people come and go. I told the pretty artist. Maybe life is to learn. Love is rare and we shall know few kind people. Maybe us painters and writers have a few friends at the end. Maybe the vodka and juice. Lake Huron are our last dear friends. The pretty artist smiled and she asked. Can I paint you dear Johnnie. Your face and eyes. A thousand places can be seen. Old faces are beautiful. Leftover scars make them so damn beautiful. You and I. Port Austin statues who are waiting for the last wild dance.
The pretty artist held my hand and she told me. Some people love the road, the sea and lakes more than love. You and I shall be okay. You get what you deserve. Maybe we deserve each other?
Johnnie/Coyote