John Dodges a Silver Bullet. By John Doyle

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.