Virtue
in memory of jsb
We were young and naïve but not stupid.We called our friend by his true name—Virtue:We baptized him in the name of our joyThat he could be trusted to tell the truthWith passion and compassion finely balanced.He would not bullshit you the more he loved youFor fear you’d believe your own easy piecesWhich always turned out to be someone else’sYou were so scared to admit you’d fucked up.He himself fucked up super bad on drugsAnd women who were dying of cancerHe’d have to bury after caring for them,Or women just plain crazy who’d tell you soAs they lapsed into rages as old as primates.When he couldn’t find drugs he turned to food.You’ve never seen a man eat so fucking much.One of us likened his bubble-bong assTo two basketballs stuffed in his hip pockets.This was not far wrong. He just kept eating.His father played and taught the clarinet.Virtue knew a lot of music, all kinds;He could help you understand what you heardWhich filled me with joy as I listened to him.Virtue’s gone now. He died in a car wreck,Sober, as far as I know, going to work.Not many of us left from the Sixties,Which I know is how those who hate us like it(As I said, young and naïve but not stupid).We played the hand we were dealt:Just one more goddamn war, endless fucking war,To fatten old fat white men even fatter.#341 my birthday came up;1H said my ticket. I didn’t have to go.As for Virtue? Virtue was rejected,But then you knew that already, didn’t you?
in memory of jsb
We were young and naïve but not stupid.We called our friend by his true name—Virtue:We baptized him in the name of our joyThat he could be trusted to tell the truthWith passion and compassion finely balanced.He would not bullshit you the more he loved youFor fear you’d believe your own easy piecesWhich always turned out to be someone else’sYou were so scared to admit you’d fucked up.He himself fucked up super bad on drugsAnd women who were dying of cancerHe’d have to bury after caring for them,Or women just plain crazy who’d tell you soAs they lapsed into rages as old as primates.When he couldn’t find drugs he turned to food.You’ve never seen a man eat so fucking much.One of us likened his bubble-bong assTo two basketballs stuffed in his hip pockets.This was not far wrong. He just kept eating.His father played and taught the clarinet.Virtue knew a lot of music, all kinds;He could help you understand what you heardWhich filled me with joy as I listened to him.Virtue’s gone now. He died in a car wreck,Sober, as far as I know, going to work.Not many of us left from the Sixties,Which I know is how those who hate us like it(As I said, young and naïve but not stupid).We played the hand we were dealt:Just one more goddamn war, endless fucking war,To fatten old fat white men even fatter.#341 my birthday came up;1H said my ticket. I didn’t have to go.As for Virtue? Virtue was rejected,But then you knew that already, didn’t you?