I got friended by an old flame on Facebook. I’ll be damn.
She asked if I was still alive; well, technically I am.
Gettin caught up on three decades, I suspect as we explore
She remembers a me who’s not there anymore.
In my profile picture, my bald spot doesn’t show.
Oh, wait; here’s a better one from twenty years ago.
Twixt the wrinkled wrath of now and the cool cat of before,
It looks just like the me who’s not there anymore.
That old flame and I burned the candle at both ends.
While some said, “You can’t do it.” we exchanged winks and grins.
Here’s a toast to the tingle, the rumble, and the roar,
And a prayer for the pair who’s not there anymore.
She recalls the balls-to-the-wall give and take.
But lately I’ve been yankin the emergency brake.
The spirit and the flesh once had a ravenous rapport;
Glory be, where’s the me who’s not there anymore?
She’s retired and bored. Why don’t I fly up for the day?
I’ve got Fiddlers and Pipers and Hell yet to pay.
I appreciate the invite, but I’ll just click “Ignore.”
Fond regrets from the me who’s not there anymore.
An albuterol inhaler, assorted salves and sprays
Are what pass for an intimate relationship these days.
I might could still get down, but could I get up off the floor?
Two trick knees and a me who’s not there anymore.
My reward may be in Heaven; in the end we may fare well;
Meanwhile it’s my memories of raisin holy Hell.
Maybe not indeed, but in my heart and in my head,
She remembers a me that she’s raised from the dead.