For Drew Tinnin

i remember nights when i said

i would conquer the world

and you said you would lift me up

so that i could see it all—

you dressed me in blue to blend in with the sky

while i dragged your swag from place to place.

we sang of the strains in the Ohio Valley

where you once earned your stripes

in hollowed brick buildings;

the sun always shined on you there

as ladies and men from all over our plains

met you with esteem, met with design

to emulate your charm.

we swore to always let the dampened minds

of those distraught to find our beacon:

a six-sided caster for those hopeful to take a ride upon

and see the world we built for them

(made of cement, leaflets, and colors)

until they could leap from the ride they garnered

and walk on their own.

i dreamt of taking in a good stiff Merlot

with you and others at hand:

we would laugh about those little wonders

whose heads we would cram with knowledge

of their lives ahead: how smoothly it would go down

as you in some Sanseic fashion would take

that gleaming whistling wonder from your pocket

and we would hear the clicks together

until our badges leapt through thin air.

this summer’s for you.