Play no sad songs for me.
I’ve lived for the last moment.
It’s been gone and come again
And yet, you come to me
A little too late for a love campaign.
When do we love tomorrow?

The sound of an orphan saxophone
Argues with the early marsh morning.
“Go away with more than a kiss.”
Select your argument with the insane.

If you cannot respect a sole dancer
Then know the words to the song.
So many of the poor, cold pretenders
In habit the hour against the minute.
Do not seek quiet bashful advice.

In an explosion second of sunrise
The drunken sincere pale graduate
Offers you the scent of dew lilacs.
Resurrect the final lost late movie
As you imagined the fast hot dialogue
And encompass the dual possibility.

If the satin mistake is of the desperate
Then you will hear it repeated in radio popularity.
To pretend is a stubborn, stale reflex
That is suddenly discovered as an ash cigarette
Gone like the push button radio disc jockey.

With a flick of a smile
Tossed like a fifty dollar littering fine
In the caution lane of a super highway
I’ve seen the wrong side of a summer full moon
And the high tide has pulled the depth
So that I find one last jukebox dollar
And taste the after hour bitter liquid
In the reflection of your
So often visited …once in a lifetime
Terminal memory.

R. Gerry Fabian is a retired English instructor. He has been publishing poetry since 1972 in various poetry magazines. He is the editor of Raw Dog Press. He has published two poetry books, Parallels and Coming Out Of The Atlantic. His novels, Memphis Masquerade, Getting Lucky (The Story) and Seventh Sense are available from Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes and Noble. He is currently working on his fourth novel, Ghost Girl.