Strumming my fingertips on top of the steering wheel

I drive,Β 

Winding conscientiously past the Old Markham pubs.

A drunken chorus of the song vibrates in a nostalgic memory

As I reminisced upon us, seated before the musicians,

Each one “three sheets to the wind,” and no faces to recall.

And suddenly your laughter resounds sonorously;

A delight to my ears.

Bittersweet visions of your innocent smile and your conniving smirk engulf me,

And my lips tremble in a dilemma between humming “Ra Ra Rasputin,”Β 

And “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”

I smile.

Which of these did you resemble? I wonder.

Sweet you were, even in your bitterness.

R. A. Douglas

July 5, 2016.


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