The following extrapolated
thought thread exercised,
NOT utilized to intimate
how Fats Domino belied,
and wowed a crowded house as-sized.

As a former ace procrastinator, I abhor
putting off doing what best ought
to get immediate attention bar
ring some extenuating dire circumstance,
sans mishap with flying carpet
case in point being unexpected a bomb
bin able crisis necessitating
hypothetical individual impossible
to remain calm
while in the process
(assisted with good ole mom)

The cloak camouflaged smoke-grey sky a
mask above, and the unsteady drunk
trees shedding its coat of gold leaves

scuttling, scraping, skidding to another

location travelling to random places, supported
by the sail of gust like a sailboat unsteady without
a sea captain and no destination

With maybe enough money
to make it to Los Angeles,
I hoped he had enough to stay
ahead of the monsters he knew well.

The ones that had him on the run
somewhere around Bakersfield,
where I last heard from him.

All these years later, with struggles of my own,
I sometimes smile to myself, thinking
I might see him again someday, healed,
while I wait for the corner light to change.

There it sits on cinder blocks,
A dank three room shack.
The kind if you duck a bullet will wheeze by
Pass the refrigerator and out the back door.

It’s a little creepy with its 70s brocade heavy curtains and thick sticky dust.
A slipcover over a molded brown couch
Blood sucking dust mites nibbling through bedclothes.
Would not think a ghost would want to
Settle there.