20 years ago we
all had their t-shirts,
insider knowledge
of their cover-art
origin and meaning,
and mushroom cuts.
Now in an empty shop
I’m bored, reading
classic books professors
raved about and then retired
to Gulf Islands—hippies and
gardens, a lyric surprises me:
Slim. Relax. Fine wine
at the QFC
on a snowy Saturday
night
Now, I’m a stranger mumbling
half-forgotten lyrics, estimating
the distance to the nearest
Quality Food Center.
Maybe100 miles?
Probably more.
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