Microphone check---out my friend Rob!
He was smart, dryly funny, rather pompous, and a bit boring.
Trust me was written all over his face.
Driving back home in my Pacer to his place.
People frequently forget their predecessors - shelved to the side in their rush to conquer the world. Not Rob. No. He was a man of conviction.
Across the years like cold river waters Rob was there creating a camp for the creatures that we all had become.
Assembled like soldiers hanging on his every word.
We were the new militia set free to crawl to the curb.
Hidden in closets pushed way out of the way.
Taking on adventure and escaping the only way.
His roots ran deep and kept him connected as others drifted far from their original course. Short sails starched in the gale.
Only too soon to sit idle in the dead summer heat and spend one last afternoon with my friend Rob.
(c) & (p) 2012 subconscious mind publication company
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