san francisco in 1974
was heaven after the USAF.

my wife the optometrist
held parties for the whole gang.

friends came up from LA and Santa Cruz,
down from Seattle and Medford.

friends came from san francisco
and san francisco and marin.

it was a mixed crowd of skywalkers;
the clouds were miles below.

shelly dressed like a man,
wore Brut and Oleg Cassini.

edward wore silk kimonos,
always put his hair up.

we all sniffed blizzards from peru,
chainsmoked no-name cigarettes.

I ran the 16mm projector and
the black and white silent films flickered

while the stereo system pounded
pink floyd, grateful dead, savoy brown.

we'd dance in the projections and all over
the room, on chairs, sofas and ceiling.

one night while shelly was cavorting
on the coffee table disrobing slowly,

edward was chopping snowflakes,
folding her clothes and draping them carefully

on a wicker loveseat bay windowed.
he danced in time to shelly and the chop

without missing a beat or a flake.
the clouds were everywhere far below.

suddenly shelly was crying and
her birthday suit became inanimate and slouched.

she yelled "stop", held her hands up
and spread them as if to gesture an important something.

shelly told us she only dressed like she did
and acted like this because she didn't like the rest.

she told us that inside she was very unhappy
and alone and doing things outrageous

made her feel better for a little while.
she told us she was so lonely it made her afraid.

edward started crying and then the rest of us.
he reached out and gathered her from the stage

and sat her in the thai bay window chair
with the view of lowell high school and slowly

knelt at her feet holding her knees.
he kissed her tears and whispered something.

they quietly left together soon after that.
the party went on and on and on.

a month later they came back wearing
each others clothes, edward in her Oleg and

shelly in his kimono. they were quiet and
laughed alot. no one asked any questions.

things were different.