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Forgive, But Never Forget
Breathing salt air never tastes sweeter
than on the shores of Put In Bay.
Lake Erie still feels cold in August this year;
not even the seagulls will hover too long,
and the delightful shrieks of children at play
are carried away with the echoes of waves
sloshing at the docks.
The moon is painted another shade of wine tonight;
a splendid yellow, like Chardonnay,
mixed with the bold aftertaste of southern grapes.
But alcohol brings back memories,
the kind bartenders hear every night
while filling their lungs
with secondhand smoke,
and the Smokey Mountains
only look like the saloon from a Western film,
because the angels cry more in Tennessee.
