Upon Recalling Youth and Poetry

In all probability
it was one
of two Helens,
that first
pointed me in
the very vague
direction
of the already
famous
Canadian Jew ..
And who, 
as it happened,
proved
both to be a
junkie and a poet ..
At that time,
I distinctly recall
how we
each huddled
around
an old gas stove ..
On what
must surely have
been a long
weekend, winter
evening ..
Listening to him,
first clear
his throat
of the nicotine
and the
thesaurus ..
Indeed, those
which both
seemed to be
lodged there
indefinitely ..
And which
in turn,
made his voice,
sound not
only coarse,
but also
correspondingly
sweet ..
Like Grandma’s
cold honey
oat cakes ..
What I try not
to remember
now though ..
Is just how many
times we
each failed to
notice time ..
And as always,
missed that
last bus home ..
But then,
the aftertaste
and the pull of it
began to
kick in and was
always too
good to resist
or leave behind us ..
And so
dear friend,
in truth ..
We would sleep
where
we could
and with whom ..
Because
back then
we were young ..
And would
dream only
of Janes and of
Mariannes,
Greek islands,
black olives,
goats cheeses
and honey ..
Oh’ and then
of course
Mastering yet
another,
handful of chords ..