Guard Yr Life



–for Rich Schoener, wherever he may be

We had season passes to paradise.

So privileged and immortal,

we spent those summers,

endless days of sun and

cloudless skies.

– Oil my back

– Any time, baby

Sensual, not sexual

we lay basking like seals in

the “lifeguards’ corner”.

– Up for a game?

– Backgammon or volleyball?

– Not cards, you cheat at Hearts

– Shoot the moon, baby

– Queen of Spades

-Anybody got money for Cokes?

Remember the time we all came down

with strep throat

from sharing?

Nobody was fat back then.

-Catch some rays, man

– Blue’s reading “Bored of the Rings”, I got it next

– Must be sexy

Elves, baby, easy pickins’

Friday nites dancing at the catholic school,

fresh from the pool,

shower, clean clothes

and a Binaca blast.

-Does my breath smell ok?

My cousin dated “Disco Joe”.

I only wanted Mr. Too Cool Slouched in the Dark Corner

to ask me to dance,

and he did.

Brother Séan, cowled sepulchre strolled over

and hissed

– You two are dancing too close. A pencil’s length

between you

is required.

We stepped back, it would wait.

Sneak into the State Park

his back seat,

honeysuckle vine perfume…

Oh yes! We were golden then.

We had that last summer

before everybody went away to school.

The following one was


I didn’t dare tell you to oil my back

or grab a swig of your Coke.

It was still the “lifeguards’ corner”,

only we were old-guard,

18-year-old has-beens,

last year’s model,

shy in our obsolescence.

-Guard your life, baby.

I haven’t seen you since.

What happened?

They sold the swim club.

Maybe they’ll put up a trailer park instead.

Maybe on a hot summer day,

some welfare mom is gonna step

outside her unit

and catch a glimpse of our ghosts

playing in the sun.


* Photo from Google

Cross-posted from my primary blog:


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