To sit in your shitty old Volvo,
Listening to radio dramas on your am station,
Laughing at the Lone Ranger or
Fibber McGee and Molly,
Creating a world
That existed for just a few precious nights.
Sneaking out of our house
To sit on the roof
Of your dad’s office building.
Watching the stars,
The planes flying in the airport,
Pretending to smoke.
Laughing at the world.
Waking through Berkeley at midnight,
With all the streets baracaded off
Finally arriving at your little bungalow
Where you lived with all the other boys,
Listening to Bitches Brew and Funkadelic.
Drinking right out of the bottle.
And we begged you not to play your trumpet (badly)
Because they were off to protest early in the morning.
It’s never been as good as those days,
I suppose I was naive to think
All love would be like that,
Crazy and amazing
Simple and delightful
Confusing and wonderful
All at once.
Or maybe I forgot that what I was looking for
Was not someone to build a life with,
Or even someone like you (because, shit, brother, there will never be anyone like you)
But a dreamer to build a world with,
Where no one else exists.
And ditching the company happy hour seems the logical
Thing to do.
As long as the car radio
Can pick up an am frequency.