Poem #65 of 365

One of the final tasks before leaving
my beloved Austin was to do a
drive-by on Congress in a borrowed car.

My friends had bade me farewell with
a series of lunches, parties, and happy
hour drizzles,

and I had kissed pretty Emily in a tipi
of my own making before the storms came,

and Julia had made a Mount Everest cake
with a four-legged toy making do as a yak,

but then we split into two different houses
when the rains pelted down hard
and i phoned Julia: "we're dancin' cumbia over heah",

and she urged, "honey, the cake is over HEAH!".

But, back to the drive-by and the task at hand,
after the suds of the Woolite had slipped down
the drain, i air-dried and carefully folded the
gift for the man.

And i drove to where i'd find him, any one could
find him on the streets on the nicest of days,
primped on a chaise lounge in the barest of clothes.

Leslie was the man, the s/him of the city, an icon
poised halfway between the banklords and the
government mansion, smiling so broad through
s/his beard unbrushed.

I pulled the car swift to the curb, holding out
the black garment as s/he turned towards my words:
Take it, Leslie, it's yours. I brought you some lingerie,
before i leave town. Now i can really leave.


[Leslie is one of the most popular people in a city with the most colorful street life in Texas.]

copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez