The 70’s were different

When I was seven

I had a neighbor

He was 85

He harvested snails

In a large wooden box

In his back yard

We would talk about books

Listen to Led Zeppelin

and Jimmy Hendrix

he on his easy chair

me on the velvet ottoman

He knew my mother

her zebra couch

her purple shag rug

her need to sleep

she stayed sick and dying

while the records would spin

He was kind to me

his wife was ill too

The wife knew death

as did I

I would make her fondu

and escargot

When it rained the

old man would

play her piano

with crooked

fingers and sing

like Sinatra

(It was a very good year)

As good as it was bad.