Frisbee Remembers

her name was Doreen;
New Jersey, back in the sixties,
when I was so cock-sure of myself;
I was only sixteen,
and thought I was Hercules.

strange, I can't remember
if it was me who liked her,
or if she was hot for me;
but I remember her--
no, wait, she was crazy about me.
I was just crazy;
but not about her.
she and my buddy
were in cahoots
together,
to make me her lover.
but the point is,
I wanted nothing to do with her,
but she liked me anyhow.
go figure.
she thought I was cool;
me,
with my long hair,
and loud, flowered shirt;
patches all over my jeans,
my shiny, black Beatle boots;
she thought I was cooler
than John Lennon, cooler
maybe.
I recall she used to stare at me.
I still have the glasses,
but they're bifocals now.

still, I see her,
all those years ago;
even the juke joint where we met--
do they still call them juke joints?
I wonder?

Doreen, I owe you an apology;
I was just a kid then. now
I am an old man.
if I could go back,
and do it all over,
you'd be here beside me,
and not just in my memory.
I'm sorry.