“I don’t want to be king, I want to be real.” – John Lennon ‪

 

35 years today.

This poem was originally published at Dead Snakes.

 

The Day after the Anniversary of Your Death

 

We walked through the freezing cold,

that blew up 75th street,

straight from the estuary

and through the fabric of our jackets,

 

your music blasting from

an ear bud one in each of our ears

the way young lovers do

not old lovers like we are now.

 

There was caterwauling

and I thought to myself,

we are going to wake up

all the old people on the street

 

because I can’t carry a tune.

You were doing great though, you always do,

 

but you weren’t worried about the others.

We always have to hear them, you remind me,

 

and besides, it was thirty years ago,

thirty years and one day

since Lennon was killed.

 

Tomorrow we’ll walk past the gates of the Dakota,

not really stopping by the guard,

but lingering just a bit to look down that driveway.

You will tell me that John asked to walk in. He stopped the driver.

 

There will be no singing tomorrow.

But tonight, we are still on this street,

with music in our ears

his music

and the hope of warmth

if we can ever make it out of this cold

and to the front door.