Mary don’t know my name.

But Mary sure knows my face.

From the night she left me standing on the side of the road,

Singing No, No, No.

Mary Don’t go.


An old highway outside of a town,

You might now it – flat, straight and narrow.

Dry grass breaking through the cracks in its sides

No passers-by, save a crow on a fence wire.


After a time he said ‘Son, I was there that night.’

‘As the rain soaked my feathers I saw your face in the headlights.’

‘I won’t tell a soul that I heard you cry.’

‘I knew we’d be friends for the rest of your life.’


In a bar warm and dry, I hid from the storm.

The jukebox played Springsteen & Credence.

The barman watching an old box TV,

Coat-hanger antenna and dials -Oakland down two in the seventh.


I don’t remember how we got to talking,

‘bout my youth and the river.

‘bout being reckless with booze and cars.

She said I looked like her daddy.


Lodi was playing. No one was watching.

She put her head on my shoulder.

She smelled like autumn and the woods by my house.

Her lips were careful  and tender.




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