Father always said he could only give me
guidance on the road of life.
I walk down the road past the viper gauntlets
between row after row of psoriatic-skin poplars
gnarled beyond their age.
I’d like to no longer live in fear,
but, there’s virtuoso madness on the road
full of potholes, crazed drivers, rotting roadkill,
and a wall of half-cracked mirrors on both sides.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I know where I’ve been.
I’ve no GPS—who will help me find my way?
I long for the touch of a jasmine-scented woman
who I could charm with a gift of frankincense and myrrh
in the hope of finding the enduring love I crave.
My older brother told me what women want—
always look on the bright side, he advised.
There’s a sliver of a silvery moon out tonight.
I smile, and see my many personas in a half-cracked mirror.
I often wonder which version of myself is really me.
A whispered voice asks,

Was he a good man,
or a very good man?

Thunder rattles and I hear God

You can bet your sweet ass he was!