Confessional
for Mark Alba
When I first met
you I was playing bass
For a band that
had potential, and I still
Followed that
other path
(In a slight way
compared to you)
But I did cut out
the heart of the artichoke
Using the method
you showed me.
We had our
obligatory disagreement
In a skyscraper,
Atlanta Georgia lawyers
All around us and
you asked me to make sure
The curled
parsley lacked stem pieces for
The garnish. Andy
told me I won’t be asked again
Because I had to
dip out to go pick up
The package, at a
specific time, a specific place,
And neither of
you thought about Atlanta Rush Hour.
Which would have
put me too far behind.
You grabbed my
(lost) knife kit out of that van.
And you held it
for me until I retrieved it.
I briefly
explained my situation and apologized
And you
apologized
Too
And when I
couldn’t show up again because
My Buick Century
engine blew
Crossing through
Nantahala Gorge
I knew you were
disappointed
But at least
there was a woman
Who saved me for
a time,
And there was an
entirely new direction.
And then
There was your
talent,
Just waiting to
be recognized
Written on the
black meringue bark,
Surrounded by
black cherries,
And drifted by
dehydrated milk foam
Snow.
