My Ann Arbor
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
The drunken poet drank his Jack Daniel and cold tap beer in the Michigan tavern. A young man sat with and ordered a double of whiskey and lowered his head down and his soft tears fell. Old Poet cries with the young man. The poet saw a memory. He wrote down words on a napkin.
I love you for so long. I have loved you since you accepted my invitation for a walk and a talk. You became my muse, my angel is a destined life. I remember us holding, loving and whispering words of a forever love deep into the darkness of the night.I left you for wars, fights and struggle that I couldn’t win. I left you so often and never knew. My Ann Arbor. You were my savior and softness in a wild life. I remembered your last words. Johnnie, life is now, today and not fighting demons who cannot be defeated. I love you, I love you for so long. This girl in Ann Arbor need you here and now. Please come home before you are dead in heart and soul. Never to be found.
I went back to Ann Arbor and she came and she held me closely. She whispered. “You have been gone for five years.You saved people in the tropic and saw beautiful places. Volunteered for every war and struggle. You painted a life of adventure. But Ann Arbor couldn’t wait for a wandering Poet, soldier and never content man. I still love what we were. You wanted everything and I wasn’t enough.”
Old poet looked at the whiskey glass and the cold beer. Looked at the young man and he handed the napkin to the young man and he whispered. Read these words my new friend. The young man told him. “Me and wife. Ain’t getting along. We used to love each other. I don’t know what to do.” He read the poem.
The poet told the man. Men are fools. Could drink the sweetest wine and not be thankful. Could have a angel in his arms and never tell his love. She is his world. His only reason to be alive. We are foolish. I lost Ann Arbor and now I’m waiting for death. Young man, if you can go home and beg for forgiveness. Do it. No peace or happy ending for men who want everything and don’t appreciate the sweetness of the woman near.”
The young man saw the sadness and loneliness in the poet eyes. He pushed over the double shot of whiskey. He told the Poet. “You ain’t dead yet. Can you find the places and things lost?”
Old Poet with a tear falling. “Love come, when love wants. A fool waste the sweetness of beautiful ladies and tender embraces. You can’t go back after you lost your way. Men change. Rarely for the better. Son, go home. Buy some flowers and anything she loved. You will love this opportunity or hold regret forever for being a foolish man.”
The young man shook his hands and he thanks the old Poet. Old Poet watched him walk away. He looked to the whiskey and he whispered. I need you my Ann Arbor. I love you still.