On a Venice Beach somewhere
i’m tapping a cracked Vic Firth
against the faded face of a jolly giant
i readhere his paper with my spit
every few hours or so
because i need my friends
and i love my band

i complemented your style years ago
which to you are just men’s words now
sandwiched between other men’s words
which have changed as you’ve aged
but remained positive
and complementary
your kids came from something similiar
that i had nothing to do with
years ago when i grew a beard

before i formed my band
in the alley behind the soup kitchen
you refused to give me a complement
maybe you’re right
maybe your complements
could start a family
one that supports the alley arts once a month
but maybe
maybe we could work together someday
and figure out why people on the beach
give such meaningful looks to strangers