Got time, time to wait for tommorrow to find it.

The title today is a lyric from Stone Temple Pilots song Plush. This is the first rock record (actually a tape) I can remember owning. Thanks Justin Richmond. There would be many years of rocking to follow before I mellowed out. Thanks Dave Matthews. Luckily, about the same time, STP released an acoustic version of this song. Check them out by clicking on the title.

This is a poem I wrote some time in the last year that seemed appropriate on Valentine's Eve. It's my artistic expression of a memory I had of an aquarium in Tampa my family and I visited before we went to a fish place for lunch. I know. I ordered chicken.

One of the only Rolling Stones songs I can endure (the other is You Can't Always Get What You Want) is Sympathy For The Devil. I almost called this poem Sympathy For The Gator, but my better self won out.

Captive Audience
By J.D. Rose

The alligators hung like packs of dying cancer
patients in their green water, ignored.
Their heads floated peacefully on the water's
crest, as their bodies hung lifelessly below,
a noose short of a suicide. Their grayed eyes,
lightly frosted over in a stupor, stayed still
as the occasional kid pounded the glass or lunged
toward them. How I wanted one of the gators
to lunge back and snap off their little arms.

That'll teach 'em.

Across the path was the main attraction; a furry
brown, whiskered, playful pair of otters
with a bright orange ball to bounce back and forth.
Families stood for days at a time laughing at the happy creatures
swimming on their backs like great showoffs,
pandering to the crowd. Kids giggled and a group gathered
all with their backs to the motionless gators.
Every so often a kid's mind would wander and he'd look
behind him, shriek in horror at the evil looking reptiles,
and turn away to the comfort of the silly otters
now resting on each others bellies on a hand sewn blue blanket.

A couple gators dove to the bottom of the tank,
my guess was to try and drown. They sat at the bottom
of the cold tank staring out at the happy otters;
the obvious choice again today.

---------------------------

Across the bar she sips a bright colored drink
with a tiny umbrella in it while he tells what I can
only assume is a story about his workout that day.
He is tan and tall, with muscles and a winning smile.
A fashionable crowd has gathered around him,
all their drinks have umbrellas in them, and they laugh
when his story ends and she nuzzles her nose into his neck.

At my table in the smoky corner I sip the cheapest
beer available from a cold green bottle and gaze out
into the room with glazed over eyes.

All their backs are to me.

Have a warm and fuzzy Valetine's Day!