My Friend Harold Earl Myers, Jr.
By Reid Baer

I’m in Southern California
living beyond my means at a
swanky beach resort meandering
around a piano player
performing in the open court
and I’m slipping through an iron
railing on the upper deck and
looking below with too much heart
protesting railings against my
nature and Mother nature and
Human nature when it becomes
heart sick with romantic trials and
love turns a belly sour with
no real goodbyes – so what’s one to
do when the wife leaves you and your
most imaginative buddy dies?

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