Lost Boys

I called for respite and saving,
a bangarang at midnight swooped in,
my lost boys who all played pretend.
If you give a homeless musician
a place to sleep in your garage
he will bring the bike rider of the country to rest,
and he will ask for an amp while you lay on his chest.
If you give him an amp, another will appear
with duffle bag and musical gear.
Funtaker, played horn all day and all night,
soon two more showed up at the back door.
Senior Senior and a boy named Sue
with vintage ties and sad puppy dog eyes
singing out of tune melodies on updated children’s toys
of days in the Valley and escaping just in time.
If you allow them to stay
and of course why wouldn’t they,
a merriment will ensue, along will come two
or three who sneak in the backdoor to shower
and pour your finest wine or more.
One last mouse came to the nest
desperate for a dry place to rest
and snuggled as one on top of the steps,
waiting for his place amongst the nest.
A full house emerged
while I purged over toilet bowl in the morning
I heard rumblings of men all through my head
wondered exactly what had happened.
By this time, the musician had become mine
a baby was on time to add to the lost boy enclave.
Boys who do heavy lifting saved me from stress in duress
although some lived like rats;
others cooked nightly feasts,
scrubbed the ceilings and fed the beasts.
Ducks who would bite, bunnies who might
and a dog who just wanted his bone.
All of this and more is the story untold.