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Description: Metarealism

Ode to David Farrow
He was the brother I never had.
He was there when I needed someone
in my weakest years.
To talk about silly ideas.
To intellectualize about nothing.
Sharing sorrows.
And times of outrage.
Running around and raising hell,
Making quite a reputation
for ourselves.
Convincing everyone what we were
But to us, just a joke.
Doing dreadful things
           Like drinking beer.
                  Smoking cigarettes
And. even. cussing..
Trying to hustle the cute little car hop
                   At the local A&W.
Laughing away the whole
                          Fucking world!
Sharing dreams.
He was there when I needed him.
He helped me through my most
troubled years.
And I grew up. and went my way
And when he called on me for help
           In his hour of need.
                Of a brother.
                    Of love.
                        Of me.
                Where was I?
I... was in Boston!
Letting my hair grow
          And starving
               And being "cool".
Doing all the things
Any red blooded American boy
          Must do
To become a.
         Real. hip. hippie
And when I'd been gone long enough,
I went back home
         To ego trip.
             To be. cool.
To show everyone I was 'hip' man!
To show everyone I was 'cool' man!!
To show everyone I knew where it was at, man!!!
I went back home
       Only to find pain.
          Of loss.
       Of the brother.
       ... I never had.
I was shocked,
But I couldn't cry.
         Why? .
Wasn't that worth the tears?
He never liked me to be phony
And to cry would be a lie, .
For they would not be tears of love
       But tears of guilt
            For not loving him.
               . Enough.

© 1970
Stevon Lucero