Jimmy, poetry by Greg Massey at Spillwords.com



written by: Greg Massey



That brown L.A. haze is no longer looming on the horizon.

There is far more than a cheeseburger in the paradise where you are, and the salt shaker will always be found; it will be near at hand.

That one particular harbor is finally in view, and its dimly lit beaches allow for a pirate to look at forty head-on with a smile.

Monday will come.

Perhaps at five o’clock somewhere,

But Monday will come-
and you will be knee deep in the water somewhere
as you relish that last mango in Paris.

We will see you soon, you Son of a Son of a Sailor.

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