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Calling Sgt. Pepper
Folder:
And Time Goes By Here I am, this summer night,
drinking two-for-ones at Bennigan’s
with a man who looks like
an older version of Donny Osmond.
He smiles too big and laughs too loud.
Time is dragging me down.
I am tied to time,
wondering how to cut myself free
without removing the anchor.
I tiptoe past the affections of
the man sitting across from me.
My thoughts strike like lightening bolts.
The squeezing pressure of
passing days are stifling.
We order another round.
I speak nothing, but feel all.
He talks while I revisit
Puff the Magic Dragon
and Lucy in the Sky,
standing behind peace signs.
No mercy is asked,
none will be received.
I whisper a muffled goodbye,
and find my way home to
the lonely house
that Freedom built.
