phoneless, i’m footloose and fancy free

would summer come
before the end of spring?
if it seems to last forever
does it?
if it flies by sooner than later
did we miss it?
we may have to take
the good with the bad,
but do we hafta
take it with us
when we leave?
do we hafta wait
till the fat man cries
before we stop rejecting him
as human?

not so many fantasy flights here
no give my goodbyes
to ol’ Broadway
here, am i
with a little boy
smiling a missing-tooth grin
behind him
the Rocky Mountains
waiting to come home.

she sings,
“When it’s springtime in the Rockies
I’ll be coming home to you…”