Grace lived in a state of grace
from roughly June 1989 until Spring 1993
when glam-metal had truly died its death three-times over
to be replaced by scraggly college-kids
in drive-thru burger-joints
spitting on customers' hot-dogs.
She was our white-lace, white-pumps peroxide Hypate
sitting dangle-legged side-stage,
while that kid who looked like Yngwie Malmsteen
tuned his imitation Stratocaster.
I worked with Grace's brother washing cars on Saturdays
so I could keep Neil Peart's dreams alive
in distant universal outposts of rebellion Neil wrote about
for 7:99 a shot on CDs I'd plan to serenade
in my first car that I'd afford -
when I stop buying Rush CDs and started saving for my first car.
I saw Grace maybe three weeks ago, in the bank
when I was squeezing a last 50 from my 27 years of savings.
I thought I'd ask her to join me
for one of those hot dogs -
looks like Grace's been through one or four more than me
in those intervening years.
John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.