sloe gin fizz


he sits outside

on a perch, lost

in a sloe gin fizz





by the walking bass line

of some Charlie Mingus tune

(the name of which

he could not hope to recall)

I’m a real lonely man, Jack

he cries to me

and I listen, because

I’ve been there, too.

he moves back and forth

to the tune in his head

as if this little, tiny bar

were a little, tiny boat

and the music

were at the mercy of the ocean

much like the name of his favorite song

we are lost at sea

and I,

his would be rescuer,

am now swimming deeper

than I had anticipated.

I don’t know Charlie Mingus

as well as he needs me to

but I know about being lonely

and I will keep him company

until his head

and the room stops spinning.

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