Blue In Town
Yesterday, as the radio played
a blackbird ditty,
you called me chalcedony…
and in retrospect,
I guess you were right.
I write poetry to get me out of my own bleak blackness. Doggerel if I have to, or even a limerick.
It is wonderful to read a few of your words. I worry. Out of place, almost surely, but I worry.
This is a cute little not-blues. (I love a story song. I still listen to “Alice’s Restaurant Massacree,…