I’d often go and see Joanne,
she was no square, no cube, no loaf,
altho she’d smoke
a joint each now and then.
“Arthritic pain” she told me confidentially;
why should I not believe her?
You’d see her spiffed in tangerine
when everyone wore tie-dyed;
she didn’t fret. With bells and toys
she’d stroll the beach
to seek out treasure ‘mongst the kelp,
come wind or shine or drizzle.
What riches she’d discover.
I miss her still, and likely will
for years ahead – I’m certain.
She gave me things – both food and thought
and read my tea-leaf future.
She saw Fate’s path laid out for me,
predestined and ordained –
I wonder what became of Jo,
I wander, wonder, wander.
© 2015 Eric Linden
Photo by Junior Libby (Public Domain)