Mayday

When I finally reached the door,
“Open sesame” didn’t work.
Turns out there’s no such thing
as magic words.

Then I rolled up my shirt sleeve,
but no tricks did I see.
Turned around to leave, “Easy come”
but go? Ain’t so easy.

Mayday, mayday.
We’re going down
in a blaze of glory.
All in good time.
All in our own good time,
anyway.

When I finally walked to the edge,
I looked down just before I leapt.
Still and silent on the way down
is how I dreamt it.

Then I rolled out of bed,
went about the day as if it hadn’t happened.
Still and again in hiding.
Mad to live or living dead?

Mayday, mayday.
We’re going down
in a blaze of glory.
All in good time.
All in our own good time,
anyway.

When I finally drove out of town for good,
rear view mirror was the last I seen her.
They say: “Out of sight, out of mind.”
I say: “Yeah, right.”

Then I rolled down my window,
looked back with the naked eye.
They say: “Objects may closer than they appear.”
I say: “Speed up to try to leave them behind.”

Mayday, mayday.
We’re going down
in a blaze of glory.
All in good time.
All in our own good time,
anyway.

(5/18-21/2018: Adams Point, Oakland, California)

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