I'M BEAT

I'm Beat
with a dashing alto sax
on the nearby mountain grass
writing my elegy for
my hip generation
asking my flower child
Jan Marie,
who was eighteen
studying to be a nurse
at the hospice in Boca Raton
who stayed with us an hour
playing canasta
and shared her Zen haiku
on the tourist ship
and applied a tourniquet
to bandage up an appendage
for a sailor, Zack who lost a bet
at strip poker
while I was in Florida
visiting my great aunt Anna
the daughter of Sonny,
Hollywood's publicity writer,
she ran a fancy hotel
with a balcony
where she cooked paella
and hot calamari
always with Ginseng tea
then realizing I spoke fluently
in several languages
got me a job letter writing
all summer
for her guests at the lobby bench
in Italian, Spanish and French
knowing I needed the money
for college tuition
as for Zack the poker playing guy
he married the flower child
Jan Marie who stood on ceremony
with this early romance
so what,
as if she took an odd
chance and got to bed
with Zack
who was like "The Gambler"
of Dostoyevsky's fame
which I gave to the couple
as my wedding gift
also I'm playing jazz riffs
along the docks corridor
during the samba dancing,
soon you named your new son
Fyodor.