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Gerrold

Of all the sonic dew I was tapping birch for cider And quartz of redemption For the honest way next

I was young and needed hens For the matchstick brew And the pies that were Sixteen jars of orange

And a harem down Chicago way

But the nurse was war And I had plenty And couldn’t get the turboprop Linked up with a jet And flew Westphalian Made the news Got away

The shores were empty in Bahia But I had heard the Gateway sound Of all four airbags due to Rome While I waited apoplectic for rain

It was in The gentry closed And in my casket was a lemon To stave off bad ideas

In a shower of sense The rainbow slick by my door And wearing a seatbelt, it hurt But it was my time And I lived on Lockerbie Drive So as to save the next plane From Ativan by the dash

And I knew to be farewell Was an instance like Oprah Winfrey We were friends and she knew The volumes of Marx were bare But not in the co-pilot’s seat And by the Fourth of July Men would rob the innocent So I flew again

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