running its fingers through your hair as you fly
over the Charles River on the Harley of a truly
beautiful man lost its Umph!? And the sailboats,
matching their crisp canvas shapes to the cloud-
dodging peak of the Bunker Hill Bridge as rays
of late April smile good-bye to S.A.D. for which
you never needed medication in the first place
—do those boats offer no invitation to toss off
your loafers and scoff at melanoma, bare toes
skipping the bus to tippy-toe the shoreful of kids
half-naked, suddenly fully in love? And the Sox,
tan muscles smacking baseballs clear over the Pike,
cannot inspire you to sit in an open-air pub with 3,
4 good friends and leave the laundry where it is?
to the Berklee students’ outdoor drumbeat groove?
Have you a voice now in your head that makes you feel
Blue? Well, we’ll keep talking until you do. It’s alright
now. Just sign your name below. Welcome to the
Church of Scientology. God is listening to you.