A Mid Spring's
by Robert C. J. Graves
Big Chet and I
drank a twelve of the Best, happy as kids eating
Whistle Pops, just fishing, bitchin bout
the Browns season, and whiners like Randy
Soon Chet, drunk Chet who loves birds, had to go
chase the call of a blue heron, but long
the way back to our best spot, he stepped in a
bear trap, silver with razor webs of rust, that
bit him hard and held.
in his drunken bemoan he cried not for help, but
stead resigned himself on his Bottom to
Iron Man, Stairway to Heaven, Freeze Frame, he
sang every song he knew the words to, and as fate
would always have it, Chet was a lucky Puck, for
his singing charmed a smokin' hot Faerie Queen.
had passed out on the dock but awoke as the earth
shook when at nearby Wright/Pat Air Force
Base crashed a billion dollar Stealth Bomber.
In my bibulous brain the flames seemed a load
star. "Please let that be Air Force One,"
I said aloudas these were the W.
yearsand turned to Chet, absent Chet, for
Combed I the
nearby bosky grove for my friend, but the crash
smoke eclipsed the day.
Luckily, I kicked Chets beer can left like
Thisbes bloody mantle beside the empty trap.
Tuned by this clue, followed I faint song soon to
be discerned as a symphony of birds conducted by
the Faerie Queen rocking most triumphant whilst
Chet lyrics belted.
I joined them, and rocked we hard, but soon woke
in an ambulance with IVs in our arms.