A little drunk you stopped
and stooped to see what
LP was splintered on the walk
as two men smoking outside
the tattoo shop looked on,
amused, Ah! Sweet Mystery
of Life— we walked back past
the taqueria and playground,
the pot dispensary, its night
-melded neon, a temple with
rows of prayer wheels outside,
you turned them one by one
in front of me, but said you
said a few prayers on my
behalf, love still the end
and all of living, hope
skipping back, and
the broken record, it
could mean something
but really who knows what?
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OPTIONAL POETRY 
Love this one! The details – splintered LP, prayer wheels, taqueria, night-melded neon (!) – all work to create a completed moment. Very nicely done.
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Thanks — still feels like there was something more to be said here, but I just couldn’t get it. Beginning to realize that that feeling is as valid as any, though.
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I frequently feel that way.
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Hope he turned the prayer wheels in the right direction!
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Haha she, hence the prayers :p I hope she did too!
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Please forgive my earlier suggestion. I just love talking about writing, but it’s not the same. When I look at what I’ve written here on my blog about my writers group over the years, I forget it would be unwelcome and intrusive for writers I don’t really know since a personal group of writer friends is quite supportive, mutual for all. Robert Okaji put it best above as far as all I love about the poem, which of course stands itself entirely beautiful. I do hope we can continue to support one another as writers in the way that we have. I love your work. Take care.
Sally
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No need to apologize, your comments are always appreciated and welcome!
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Whew! : ) I just did a post on this. Learning to navigate only
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Sometimes I get your stuff, and sometimes I really try to work out what lies inside your words. That’s what I like about your writing.
That and the fact that whatever you write is usually poignant and subtle, and always well crafted, so it’s a pleasure to read whether I get it or not.
And if not, well there’s always another one the next day!
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To be fair, I thinking reading and reacting to a poem, in any fashion, counts as “getting” it 🙂 Sometimes I try and read my own poems with fresh eyes, and it’s funny how it can give a very different impression from the moment that inspired it…
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I think I can relate to that – I often re- read my own stuff and wonder what the hell I was thinking when I wrote it! 😉
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