Donovan thought Bob was jokin’
About the old San Remo—
How back then shit they were smokin’
Would put to shame D.’s “primo.”
All this was well before the laughs
At Max’s Kansas City:
Bob still carried a photograph
Of Joan Baez’s titty.
It seemed all Dylan cared about
Was conquering some snatch.
They smoked some more; then Bob was out;
He had a plane to catch.
We’re all failed stars, too, by this time;
Though some have way more loot.
D. figured Dylan for a mime,
While Bob thought D. a fruit.
Christ, let the purple rain rain down,
And let the winds go howling!
Don’t send me down to Hell to pound
Reruns of Father Dowling.
oops, one small typo. 4th stanza, 3rd line should read "D. figured Dylan for a mime," not "I". if Donovan were threatened, especially by the Romans, I too would stand up, like everyone else, and say, "I am Donovan!" but as far as i know he's doing okay.
Posted by: jim c | December 14, 2019 at 05:24 AM
Fixed it. Hope you're feeling mellow (yellow). DL
Posted by: The Best American Poetry | December 14, 2019 at 04:53 PM
I am, I really am. Hey, sunshine came softly through my window today. I could've tripped out easy, but, well, I guess, you know, I chose to stay. You-you-you-you-can just sit--whoa, sorry, channeling Joe Biden there ... I am curious, mellow ... I witness and wait. Stacey Abrams for VP!
Posted by: jim c | December 20, 2019 at 07:53 AM