Here At Last

A lunatic poem with an unreliable narrator. This poem is dedicated to Jerry Douglas, dobro player extraordinaire with Alison Krauss and Union Station. Play it while reading the poem.

I surely do enjoy these types of poems when they come creeping around the corner. They require that I set down my critical mind, suspend my poetic license and turn it loose.

                      Here At Last

             Madness is here at last!
         I had been waiting patiently,
     sanely, but that did me no good.
            Why put your thumb out
             on a road with no cars?
       You have to pick up your load
    and walk toward your destination,
               which is nice to have
                in lieu of a purpose.

                   If someone could 
                turn up the jukebox,
          that pool game will heat up,
   especially if the dobro player is on.

      The waitress lent me a smile I’ll
         hang onto for a while, while
   wondering about the interest rate.
         I kindly asked the bartender
       to leave all my drinks standing,
                 at ease, parade rest.
    I have taken roll call several times.
              Madness was present
                 and accounted for.

           Chores, plans, rules, lists
           all come and go, but only
     a completely crackpot schedule
              will adequately suffice
            to beguile the wily hours
                before quitting time.