I still don’t know

I still don’t know

I can remember the day I stopped taking anything seriously.

Reagan was just elected President

and I didn’t know what to do with myself.

So, I just drifted around in a haze.

I ran into Otis  at a horse race in Phoenix Arizona.

I think I can remember that much.

He staggered up to me in a stained white suit and beat up straw hat.

We shook hands.

He introduced himself.


Do I know an Otis?


I had frequent occasion to bump into drunks, being one myself,

but the vague familiarity of his face triggered no immediate recognition.

Do you remember Mayfield? He asked.

On television? I asked

Exactly he answered.

Then Otis the town drunk staggered away

chuckling and talking to himself.

I wondered if he still talked to Floyd, or Andy or Barney or Aunt Bee.

But I didn’t ask him.

 I went back to studying the racing form.

It was a dark comedy, perfect for America.

I haven’t really seen the sun since that day.

Have you?

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