"Romantic," A Weird Catastrophe Poem

                                            Romantic

Willow
and Danny Boy
are
a couple of beautiful
kids who deserve nothing less than to be
immortalized in statues
speeches
films
concerts
songs
montages
paintings
and books
forever and ever after
and always,
amen.

Willow harmonizes
with everything including
the wind
and Danny Boy
keeps his music
alive to stay sober.

You know who
this couple is.

They are the
street urchins.
The dirty travelers
and happy players
who accept love
and money
and rolled cigarettes
and marijuana
and shared stories.

They sit on the sidewalks,
they have piercings
in their cheeks
and tattoos on
their brains,
they have a dog wearing a vest,
his name is Hank and he
carries the blankets,
they have dreadlocks,
pins 
pinned on their backpacks,
patches 
sewn on their jackets,
stickers from hitchhiking through mexico,
sleeping bags for
their spot under the bridge.

Their friend died
from an overdose last year,
he was the sweetest
craziest motherfucker
who could sing the best covers
of 90’s folk-punk tunes

They want booze
They stomp on bibles
Sometimes they go
intravenous and become
drunk Indians
floating in the sky

They hold their hands
together in gratitude
for receiving boxed
leftovers from down the block.
Sometimes they drive busses
loaded with beds
and guitars
and ukuleles
and enough fun
to turn the world upside down 
so that
they reign as kings

They are Chad,
Sonya Chagas,
Laura Griffin,
Abby the Spoon Lady,
Anthony Van Zant,
Olyn,
Abigail, 
Artis,
Erik,
Peter

They are saintly like
Joan of Arc,
They are crusty
and giving
and endowed with
powers of nuclear
fusion and 
empathy which could
fill oceans and graveyards
with smelly bandanas
smoky alcohol
and fires throughout the night.

People treat them
like trash
like tumbleweeds
who clutter up the space,
Police order them
to move on
move out
get in line

Little girls clutch onto
their mother’s skirts
and keep their eyes down as
they pass these groups
of smiling minstrels,
of dirty train hoppers.

Willow gave me a hug
when we first met.
She remembered my name.
Danny Boy shook my hand
and shared his guitar.

That is much more
than I can say for the others
who pass these creatures on the street
without a second glance.

Dedicated to Willow and Danny Boy, playing on the sidewalk of Ashland, Oregon, wherever you are now.