Strumming my fingertips on top of the steering wheel
Winding conscientiously past the Old Markham pubs.
A drunken chorus of the song vibrates in a nostalgic memory
As I reminisced upon us, seated before the musicians,
Each one “three sheets to the wind,” and no faces to recall.
And suddenly your laughter resounds sonorously;
A delight to my ears.
Bittersweet visions of your innocent smile and your conniving smirk engulf me,
And my lips tremble in a dilemma between humming “Ra Ra Rasputin,”
And “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”
Which of these did you resemble? I wonder.
Sweet you were, even in your bitterness.
R. A. Douglas
July 5, 2016.