NARRATIVE POETRY

Dylan Ages Like Fine Wine

Defending myself and my spirit guide at a record store

Dylan Doodle by the author.

I walked into a local record store
and found a rack of artsy T-shirts.
The one I could not resist
was Bob Dylan at the piano.

He is one of my spirit guides
down through the decades
a lyrical genius
like the blowing winds or the hard rains
changing with the times.

Oh, great T-shirt, the lady
at a counter said.
I saw Dylan a few years ago
at the Coachella Festival.

Cool, I said,
I saw him four times
at the Santa Barbara Bowl
and once in Arizona.

I wish I could have seen
him when he was younger,
she remarked.

How young? I asked.

When he was handsome
and in his early twenties.

I was sixty-five.
I wasn’t young
or handsome,
according to her.
Perhaps she thought
I was washed up, too.