Protect The Family.

A man went into a gun shop to buy a gun.

He ask the clerk, “What gun is best to protect a family?”

The clerk thought for a moment...then he walked

over to the right hand of the store and pointed

at the pistol on the table.

With a wife and two beautiful kids to protect,

the young man smiled and bought the pistol.

Many years have past and

the children are all grown up.

The old man came home from his wife’s funeral.

Not once has the gun ever been handled.

It sat in the hidden drawer in the

man's bedroom collecting dust.

Tired and depressed, he found his gun

and took his own life.

The Man.

You know that feeling

when that exciting thing

grows dull.

That feeling is you learning about

the man behind the curtain.

The Train Ride Home.

After a long night, my family of friends and I

head back home on the red line train towards Glenmont.

Everyone can hear the club music coming from

the short Latino man behind me.

The train operator reminding

the tired and drunk passengers

about the next stop ahead

over the hissing speakers.

This is home. 

This is my new home, 

rebuilding what I've always been missing.

--------------

I wrote this after The Pride Parade.

Chris, Kial and I were heading back from The Rocky Horror Picture Show at E Street Cinema.

This was how I felt and I sent it as a text message to Chris and Kial.

Django Reinhardt.

  

I'm lying in my bed, holding my girlfriend.

The faint whispers of the main melody from Brazil

being played by Django Reinhardt on the record player.

The nights are cold here, they've always been cold.

Warm is just a theory now, a vague concept.

The snow covers the grass like a blanket

and the ice covers the road like hot water clinging to your skin,

in the shower I take to feel alive again.

But...I miss Brazil.

I wish this record player can take me there.

But, I would end up with a cold heart 

because this album is called,

Jazz in Paris.