This is Not Glenn, Michigan

This is not Glenn, Michigan
But I am trying to recover the words
The words that we dropped into the water
On that late summer misdirected trip
Where all the girls wanted one dance
With the traveling wordman – the beer fan
But those girls disappeared into the night
Hiding in the dark between dances
And the words – for what they’re worth to me now
Have slipped away like the good German beer that
made this trip worthwhile
And the kid – the poet – the martyr to his own self-destruction
He found us a hotel room at the crack of dawn – hammered
He found us a place to crash – to hide from the unforgiving night
While I inhaled a river of the good German beer
Throwing the bottles out the window
To crash along the Blue Star Highway
I smoked one cigarette after another and cracked bad jokes
Come winter now and I miss the bubble machine
God – I miss Glenn Michigan
For all of the uselessness of wishes – mine is that I were there tonight
With the nameless sweaty girl who hid in the darkness
After every frantic dance surrounded by empty beer bottles
And I want to find the place where we finally let the words go
The place where the dark hairy men in the tiny bathing suits
Snapped our picture standing in the lake
There on the shoreline that recalled my childhood

August 2000
We never found our way.

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