Or: Concerned to be Thinking of You

Skipping stones at the lake 'cuz the house is all glass
Laughing, "What'm I sposed'ta remember?"

Fifty first somethings, first odd interludes,
Me in orange sweatshirt, He coppin' the 'tudes
Still bragging that he has a choice. Hmph!

I haven't got much, though, just my little voice
(& it says: Accident my A$$ and changes the picture
And turns from the past) to sing its sweet little song,
To write that new novel - it's just one page long -
But I've been checking it over for years.

Time means nothing to me but to he, he who hears-
Well better I don't make a fuss. Hey, was that me
On the side of that bus? No, just familiar pajamas.
One in a dozen odd grandmas. Just like something
I couldn't pretend. Like, "They-all-got-hit-by-a-bus-the-end."

Like every soul I saw as a friend...
Aw, heck, I ain't no good at endings.

Skipping stones at the lake 'cuz the house is all glass
Laughing, "What'm I sposed'ta remember?"

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