Babe Ruth

in the end
i did four
pencil sketches of a friend
and a fifth
we drank empty the very next day
before we went sailing
into San Francisco bay
where we met a company
who had just left on a tour of the coast
but that wasn't the least or the most
that we smoked or drank
on the wooden boat before it sank
in a sudden blast
which torn down our single mast
it felt like we ran aground
and wouldn't too easily be found
on the crossing ferry
nearing the busy Sausalito shore
so i tried my free hand
at house-boat-keeping but the decor
kept looking like a combination of dimly lit sun and windy sea
and didn't resemble the tranquility
that i sought
so i did two major paintings
and after two days they remained un-bought
i traveled down to Oakland
where the hungry dealer
agreed to introduce me to people who partied in the air
but when i met them there
they asked me what i admire
and i told them i like nature,
want her proportions to be free,
that they shouldn't resemble me
but their laughter died when i bent to tie my shoe
they left for the zoo
and that's the honest history
of a recent sailing trip
with one notable difference from the truth:
my name has never been Babe Ruth
and i don't know why
but i once saw the blue sky
and the sexy beach
shimmering within reach
when i looked out from the heaving deck
and
a piece of wood floating on the desert sand
with a fateful message fixed by my own hand
and a lady giving me a clue
not of when exactly but who
in the way she expressed herself i felt there was a chance
before the foghorns sounded we'd have the next dance
and would sleep
wrapped together in each other's arms
reciting poetry in our dreams
at least that's what it seems
like
when i ride my bike.