The Ring-A-Ding Solution

When I’m suddenly caught

In the

swirling

inlet

riptide

of

heartbreak

I turn to my invisible

friend

of record

Capitol Years Frank,

to croon away the pain.


Frank

The interpreter of maladies

and melodies

was the tough guy

Priest of the Church of Me Too

who preached from the cathedral of barrooms

in a plume of Camel smoke

“This is a gentleman’s drink,” Sinatra once said referring to his signature cocktail which was

a mix of four ice cubes,

two fingers of Jack Daniel’s

and a splash of water.

He would never touch the rim of a glass

but rather cupped it in his hand with a cocktail napkin

and then he would proceed to

thinly slice

the gabagool of his wrists

with the jagged blade edge of rejection

like the time he

tried to commit suicide

to perhaps

match the faint forceps scar that ran

from his jawline

up his cheek

to his ear

whose skin

was mutilated

by cystic acne

which he

hid with make-up.


His voice

arrived

In the ink well of night

Like the cavalry

Armed with the lyrics

Of broken soldiers

Stripped of love

Who grappled

with the wounds of

surrender

On the backs of stallions

Which to this day is the

only

Me Too movement

men ever allowed themselves.


Being a man

His prescription for a busted heart

Was

Booze the sorrow,

Suck it up

Move on

And find some other

Broad

To take it out on

Because they were young

And easy to con

After all

you were the

Prize

That was sought

By any

Chick

Who was worth her weight

In dreams.


But the truth was

The ring-a-ding

Solution

Was not the answer


Just because

You staggered home

And slept it off

Did not mean that you

left your troubles on a strip

Of toweled down bar mahogany

like a tip

Because

Irrational hate

childish hurt

baseless jealousy

self-punishing despair

And staggering loneliness

Cannot be eradicated simply by

Flying to the moon

And playing amongst the stars.


Because

in the wee hours of the morning

When Frank was

Afflicted

by heart and breathing problems,

high blood pressure,

pneumonia,

bladder cancer

and dementia

His last words to his wife were,

“I’m losing.”




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