Written for my friend Bill Sowman on his 69th birthday. He passed shortly after that, but he loved this poem, and called me (back in the days of Long Distance being bloody expensive) from London, just to ask me to read it to him. I sure miss him.
Sixty nine is a number
that evokes interesting mental
imagery
is it not?
Sexuality fecundity perversity orgasmity
rubbing licking sucking touching
feeling breathing being living
loving dreaming wanting hoping
yearning needing seeming creaming
hang on, I'm coming
don't get your panties in an uproar
open the door
open the mind
open the heart
open the senses
open the soul
see what you find in there
not just another
old man oh no
not a
turn on the tube and watch
bowling for bucks
(don't those shows suck?)
fuck the luck who won the truck
or the fur coat and how come
pat sajak isn't
boffing vanna white anyways?
kind of man
not a
pick the world apart
my way is better than
your way because
i am older than you and i
have experienced lived suffered
i remember world war two
so don't tell me what suffering is
you damned kid
because i know what it is
and you have it easy and
i walked to school barefoot in the snow
in alaska
naked
kind of guy
defying boxes
no label fits you
better than
the great bald one
the wild paganistic guru poet
inspirational motivational
frustrational consummational
indisputable
King
of the written word
and on this
your lucky number birthday
beautiful and evocative number 69
i say to you
that if my man
should piss me off
me
and that bottle of
viagra you
requested
will be on our way
to your compound
wherever it is
and we will have
a roman festival
an orgy of poetry
that will leave
the neighbors
screaming
for some peace
and quiet
god damn it!
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