03/18/20 Tick Tock

Remember that day we shared

in the park,

debating manically

the merits of non-violent

revolution,

the voice

of Art Bell,

whether it

squeezed out of him now

like glue

from a tube that’s always hot

with conspiracy

and a taste for the world

from a secret bunker

in the Mojave desert,

and your lips were cracked

because you forgot what time it was

and I neglected to bring my

favorite jacket

the one

with the avocado stain

and cracked zipper

which I refuse to return

to its owner

because not all of us

look like stunt doubles

from Saved by the Bell

and you asked,

“What’s Saved by the…?”

“A classic,” I answered,

just another way foreigner boys learn English,

and an old woman

measured her steps

without thinking,

smiled at our

irrelevant conversation

like a blessing,

though we didn’t know it,

and proceeded into the water

like a mermaid

returning to the sea

having made her final

offering

to two idiots