Patchouli Day

Wow, a happy poem?  From me? 

 

 

Patchouli Day

And he’s out of town

So you’re alone in the car

And you can play what you want

And you can be who you are

And the Santa Ana wind

With its SoCal heat

Whips the dry sand dust

Across the hot black street

And the convoys pass by

All the humvees in their line

But you remember who you are

And you know you’re doing fine

Steel guitar on the radio

And paisley on your shirt

Body oil smelling like rain

And home and dirt

And you can sing with the music

‘Cause no one can hear what you say

And you can go where you’re going

And yeah, it’s a patchouli day