She peered from the small upstairs window

and a tear from heaven fell.

 

Her eyes so deeply set

Three cards in her hand

Her robe mostly untied

a white rose on its plume

Hair as wild as the April morning

wilder than the rose.

​

One card from a lover, one card from a son

the other card had not yet come.

 

To one it is ten years of years

Ten years of want,

imagination, triangles, fear, hurting.

 

To another it is impossible to comprehend.

​

The third card had no place

the trump card faceless.

​

And now in this space her hair fell upon,

my face,

as soft as the petals,

softer than the robe,

smoother than the lace.

​

And with that still look that was only hers

the wonder played on

as the lovers and souls

of those that loved her

slid by her in thin flames,

And her heart recorded every flicker.

​

She stooped to cling to the window,

sedating the air,

until her breast lay so soft,

as if asleep on her arm.

​

In a wink she had bowed to heaven,

and heaven should have acknowledged that call.

Through all the Worlds her gaze drove,

penetrant and not repentant.

As in the window she continued to hang,

and hang on to the three cards.

​

She wished he would come

and she was afraid of what might become of me.

Laying in the shadow,

within whose secret the white white dove had nested.

​

And I saw her from both sides now,

from above

and beyond the window.

And I could lay my cheek to hers,

and I could stroke the babe inside of her

and whisper our love.

Hide pride and still speak,

hand in hand, as in once on earth.

​

But I could not hide the son

and the trump card

that would yet come.

​

She listened and smiled, sad but mild,

as the light rushed toward her

But soon, it's path would be vague and distant

​

Then she let her arms fall

and laid her face between the blinds

and then she wept.

And the tears she shed I cried.

​

. . . . Slyd Blvd 1993

Little boy ducks out from the window sill,

Dives and rolls across the floor,

Sees his buddy on the stairway,

And chases him out of the door.

They both yell and imitate the noises,

Of last nights TV show,

Starsky and Hutch of the living room carpet,

So much that little heroes don't know.

​

Jimmy props his toy gun to his shoulder,

And with a sharp grunt sound Troy Ritz is blown away,

He does two pained cartwheels and lands facedown on the pavement,

It was so cute to see the two pals play.

Jimmy's Dad had two more rifles on the living room wall,

I've seen him use 'em lots of times he told Troy Ritz,

We were in the country once in the winter time,

And this here big one tore a big tree all to bits.

​

By this time Troy was mighty impressed,

He watched with awe as Jimmy lowered that huge machine,

He ran for the door just like moments before,

And Jimmy chased him all the way to the screen.

But the real thing was to heavy for Jimmy to run with,

And when he tried to get through the door he bumped his head,

The rifle fell to the steps with a shattering crash,

Troy did two more cartwheels and was dead.

 

So when you are pushing through the Bay at Christmas time,

Wondering what to buy your loving son,

Listen to the cry, society,

Go out and get your kid a gun.

 

---- Slyd Blvd, 1970