A Dead End Hedonistic Septuagenarian Foresees His Death
for Chuck Sullivan
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind.
I know I shall meet my fate one day,
while crossing Second Street East,
neglecting to look both ways . . .
A MAGA JACKED UP PICKUP TRUCK
. . . not with a bang, but with a whoomph,
and a thud, and with something louder than a whimper.
You Do Hoodoo 
Dearest Wesley, Take a deep breath and call the fire from the heart of your soul and you will burn the MAGA truck in the stretched split-second before it hits you. You will shrug your shoulders and calmly walk victorius to the beach and watch the waves break on the Folly shores of Time, having lived to sing another day. Love to you my brother, Chuck