Flowers To Whiskey Poem by Bill Galvin

The rain and clouds are leaving…
Bright days are in the forecast.

I planted the daisies I left there the other day,
And your site looks cheerful.
I bought some more hanging flowers for the deck;
And some petunias for your planter on the shed…
We are not going to have a solemn summer.
Your biennial foxglove is in bloom.

I met with the monument man; he explains he’s late
Because his etching artist retired again,
With my design next on his calendar;
But, all is not lost, and we are back on track.
He’s a real nice guy; just needed my personal nudge.
He showed me a scaled version of it; looks good.
The ball is rolling again.

I channel my old man, who hung around the diamonds
Watching younger men play ball;
I find the local fields, and, to my surprise,
The are four full courts there; eight baskets.
Only half used, by all ages and abilities;
I can start getting back in shape up there.
I’ll start slow; my rendition of Tai Chi basketball.

I feel pumped; so I play the hard blues rock
That does not appeal to all sensitivities.
You called it my “whiskey music”,
Only played out in my so-called man cave
(A lawn chair in the garage;
When you bragged to your brother about it,
He called it “kind of Spartan”) .
Dylan rolls “Thunder on the Mountain”,
Then to your dismay, Dave Alvin’s Eleven Eleven,
“Beautiful City ‘Cross the River”
And “Harlon County Line” – your ancestor’s home!
And James Govan helps out with his Beale St. Band.
Remember last time we were in Memphis;
I wanted to see him a second night,
And you said, go ahead, I’ll stay here? Good times.

You didn’t mind my going to my space
To decompress after 60 hour work weeks
And having a cigar, a whiskey, and a song;
Of course, sometimes the cold or mosquitoes
Would drive me inside real quick.

Way, way back, in ’72, you had written to me:
“And when you’re feeling restless,
Well, then, I’d like you to know;
Don’t fear that I might cling to you;
Let your river flow.
For all rivers flow to the sea, my love,
Guided only by the moon and sun;
And though they travel their separate ways,
Comes a day they flow into one.”

And last summer you said,
“I want you to have a good life after I’m gone.”
Damn. Damn. Damn.

Anyway, I figured since the music was on…
I should have a couple of whiskies; sing a little loudly;
Email a couple of friends;
And now I’m writing this.

Like another song you didn’t like says,
“I ain’t drunk, I’m just drinking.”

I put the player on shuffle; 1958 songs to choose from;
Clapton’s “Miss You” plays.
The lyric does not pertain, but the title does.
Miss you, too, Baby. Always will.

6-17-2015