Sputterpub's Blog

I’m stunned by the mortality of men
I used to love. They ought to stay alive,
although I never thought I’d see again
the three no longer breathing of the five
significant to me as partners: first
and last and in between, companions of
my escapades, decisions with the worst
results, beloved enemies of love.

The streets are clogged with senior citizens.
A fleet of walkers brandish tennis balls.
Our medicine prolongs the lives of men
who used to die of age. Those nature calls
can win parole, and put the call on hold,
but I’ve lost three who weren’t all that old.

When we were young we smoked a ton of weed.
We bought it by the kilo around here.
It didn’t lead to heroin or speed
addiction. Alcoholics don’t use beer
as gateway drinks, and while we smoked a lot,
and added ‘shrooms and acid when we would,
and spiced with rock and roll and blues our pot,
our bodies processed all, and all was good.

And though reports say drugs are stronger now,
we wonder if the issue is our years.
Perhaps we’ve worn away the path to how
we handled combinations. It appears
that some of us are dying from abuse.
More likely we’re too old for compound use.