The last poem written in 2024, Mid December. This came to me, ALMOST, fully formed, after hearing Carly Simon’s ‘You’re So Vain’ for the 1st time in oh at least a decade.
After a brisk edit and a handful of afterthoughts, my piece veered off out into a very different place though.

you play the game of normalcy so well
yet you have said
you wished you were on a different path sometimes
but
if you dared to be different
would the walls of protection
sigh and crumble on down
leaving you naked in the rain
and maybe those bland but bright
adults in pastel raincoats
would laugh at you
or worse
feel sorry for you
or worse
fear your power, eccentric and delicious

so
you hang with the plodders the slow and the nice
the ones who keep their books frigid and clean
no folded down corners, or tear stains, or fingerprints that tell us
that there were treats close by

you watch those that believe
that work is their worth,
that stress is
their golden cross to bear
those marvelous martyrs, that cherish guilt tripping
lightly whipping their souls,
first soft on their skin
then flicking
harder upon others
(everything in dull, careful, moderation
naturally)

i think it was a Saturday afternoon
that sweet dead time ‘tween 3 and 4
i saw you climb into the aging boy’s car
you wore
a neat dress and sensible shoes
you looked a million miles away
even before
the engine grunted politely
and then you were gone.

later
for the 1st time in a thousand years
you did not come and talk to me
in my dreams
as i drifted
down