What should really surprise us is this—
there’s a tea-drinking rock star
and a bad boy, addict rock star
The third rock star is only a
star in an alternate universe or
maybe only in his or my imagination
In this world? He’s our postman
He whistles as he delivers packages,
bills, offers of car insurance,
occasional letters. Evenings, he plays guitar
for his kids, taking all requests and we
are never amazed when he knocks on our door
the way we would be awestruck in that other world
Two of the three rock stars will grow old
one will not and you might be surprised
at which one is which but
trashed hotel rooms or Earl Grey
or today’s mail delivered—-
all three rock stars and you and me?
we’ll die someday and likely won’t see it coming
through our whole short or long lives
till it’s close and startles us with its heft
That? That not acknowledging
That ought to surprise us all
Puff Of Smoke Poems 