Burnt Fly Blog

No jacket

You never took off
I saw you again at 3am
on a break
you came back
in the sweat jacket hood
I think i was 14
when you first tackled me
in the army coat in a Halloween creek
walked me home swerving
a bloody lip, and we had just met
at 21 on a street on the left bank
my ripped leather for the first time
fucking freezing in a French wind
This time, I thought I would forget
I am ok, I changed, I'm fine
I am surrounded in my establishment
dressed with music
packed to the rafters
with a draft of good spirits
I need no more big hellos, warm handshakes,
forced feelings of friendship and congrads
then i catch you still under a hood
you are back, at my back
to get a slice, alone
in the village of wild ones
cold city pizza fishtail parkers
laughing transvestites in leopard skin trenches
urban oversized bboy pleather
Mexican busboys dosed in white aprons
lovely tunnel girls tight 3/4 brown
all under the subway shroud
So did I ever thank you?
at 28 on a Canadian lake
in a magic blanket poncho, huddled while a broken family slept
for all these years of service
dedication against those cold out theres
in the middle of my nights
still on a trestle, in the woods, avenues,
I have never been hugged by so much
coated with anything as snug as you
nothing, but so strangely warm