by R.L. Wisdom
Prior to my trip
I obsessed over the weather.
Why is this city so loved?
It’s so damned hot.
Waiting for some new friends,
the coolness of the bar
and the local beer envelopes.
“John (dawdling) it’s your shot.”
The GB is built (ice please)
red light goes on.
Both preparing mentally and
physically for the pot.
Homebound Penske-style
no tape-deck and 16 hours;
my liver’s rot.
My nerves…shot.
The Writing of John B. Randall 