The Voices at My Ear

You’ve remained in my head

along with the scar

that worms across my arm,

a reminder of violent storms

and doves struggling to fly.

You were right.

What did I know about love?

There was so little of it

in my world,

I had to borrow from the Nelsons

and the Mickey Mouse Club.

I was Annette gone bad;

a renegade Porto Rican

with no clue about anything

except death.

Did you know I wanted to be

a rock star?

Tina and Janis were my goddesses

until Morrison appeared

in all his sinister glory.

Ginsberg and Paul Crump howled

through my brain

trapped within

the fashionable confines

of my pink pillbox.

As the ocean grew restless in me

I became aware of the pirate in you,

believing you would reveal mysteries beyond the O.K. Corral,

but you said I was the true mystery—

the real outlaw.

Your truth cut deep

and recovery was slow.

Regardless, you should know

that I did make the stage

and rocked with Johnny B. Goode—

outsiders all—

in heady celebration

of our deviant social standing.