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Song for a Peace Pipe

Poetry & Prose | November 3, 2010

That joint that night was a clean, blue ray of clarity and said, “I’m fucking in love with this reality.” “Pretty good times,” respect. It put our hearts in the right place. We loved each other, warm fuzzies all around. That joint that night hit us all just right. That joint that night was stuffed with Royal Blue weed. It’s the best I’ve ever smoked, like an outdoor pool. That joint got us high in every way we could imagine. It conquered every territory of our spirits. That joint that night was the Roman Empire. Stuffed with Royal Blue weed, the best purchase of the century, I announced. It rivaled the Louisiana Purchase (the only other purchase we could think of)! That joint that night filled our chat with substance, put kind words on our tongues and Wonka candy on our minds. A girl named Amy laughed and sighed, and she swayed as her stress slid off. That joint that night said Hey, these benches are really quite cool, and weren’t your butts too hot? We sat on the roof in a dim violet glow, and Amy thought about chemistry for fun. That joint that night got Matt to talk. “Don’t know why you’re knocking Britney,” he said, “that song ‘Lucky’ was my jam.” And we all smiled bubble gum grins, because that’s why we love Matt. was like Ronnie Reagan, the Great Communicator. Pats on the back echoed through that night, and we sensed that hugs were in our future. I took a hit of that joint, turned to Samuel and That joint said he. “Pretty good times.” That joint that night pulled up the zipper on the World’s light jacket, kept the chilly out, so that we knew who we were and where we were going. That joint even helped Payday live up to its name; I paid for one and out shot three. Like beautiful birds of caramel and peanut, they flew at the vending machine window and dropped into my hungry hands. That night that joint whispered into our ears, softly, so it all made sense. All the baby deer of the spirit world crept close to us and sniffed our socks. They licked Matt’s hands and told him his cap looked rugged. Well, Matt took a hit of that joint, paused, and stroked the scruff he’d being growing. That joint that night helped us let go of our fantasies and fall in love with true life. We soon said good- bye to the soft light of the roof, and then said goodbye to our girlfriends. After that joint that night, we said goodbye to our girlfriends, but our peace was too immense to be interrupted by the loss. That night we all knew who our dearest friends were. Our joint brought us that far, that close to elation. That joint that night put us quietly to bed, and the young birds sang as our pal the Sun started his morning paper route, and we knew we had done nothing wrong. That joint gave us the strength to stay up through that night and to love it for all it contained. But to me that joint that night was a muse, and she woke me up in the morning so I could write this downwhile my friends slept in.