"GYPSY LEGEND" - by Mark Gibbons, 2010

Old Bob Bauer says don’t you cry for me

‘cause I’m with the Menehune

runnin’ naked trough the trees.

Back from weeks on Kauai walking

In the forest under the sun, slurping mangoes

And making seed jewelry,

You told me the spirits taught you

How to listen beyond the machines, past the tinnitus

Roaring in your ears, so you could hear

The crickets playing their songs, and accompany

The wee folk on trowel or banjo.

The crickets know the Menehune  

Like the leprechauns. Crickets rule

The midnight hour, sawing the music of night,

The right time to fiddle with magic.

For magic needs the dark like legends

And crickets do, and I need some magic tonight.

I need you, want to channel you, my dear

Dead friend, gypsy lover of all that breathes,

Because you told me you weren’t surprised

Cancer arrived—you said your mind invited it to be.

I don’t know what you meant by that. So,

Are you at peace with your anger, now,

That bad vibe you claimed to ride for several years?

I’m sorry, but it’s hard to buy that admission,

Since I never saw you truly angry (like me).

I know some things can’t be explained, and I hope

Anger didn’t bring cancer to you . . .

Because I’m so fucking angry I could break

Down. And I have no patience for the healing

Pettiness of routine, no reverence

For platitudes or prayers. All I want

Is to scream, to curse, to sing and cry,

To smash shit, to punch walls, to count stars

In the sky. I’m dying for a bottle of whiskey,

Dying to forget and understand the succession

Of corpses, this plan (if there is a plan) our passions,

Our dreams, the toys, the noise, and then . . . gone,

Just fucking gone . . . and what follows:

Heartache and tears—the fear of not being here,

Of leaving, of losing what we have.

But you knew all you had was the day—

Nothing to lose—you used it all up

Or gave it away, a love lesson you shared

With the Menehune, the crickets

And me—now hiding undercover, out of sight,

Waiting for the dark night to bless me

With your Old Timey twang, hat tipped back,

Hair awry, and that gypsy smile kicking up

A life-lust in each of us, the jitterbug

Dust of your free-wheeling polka dream.