party girl

do you party, she asks me.

sure.

i love a good birthday party,

or halloween

or new years.

no, she says. parteeeeh

you know.

get high.

smoke?

what are you talking about?

cigarettes cause

cancer.

no no not cigarettes,

weed.

mary jane.

ganja. 

she pulls out a bag of green

finely chopped dope

from her big purse,

pushing aside a ball of yarn

and knitting needles.

i see a pair of pink booties

she's working on for one of her

grandkids.

she shakes the weed in front of my face.

smoke a joint?

do a doobie?

oh my, i tell her.

i haven't touched that since

1972 at the grand funk railroad

concert in dc stadium.

we rushed the stage

during the last encore song.

i'm getting closer to my home.

come on,

she says.

this is good stuff, i got it at

the pharmacy

for my arthritis,

and kidney stones.

ummm. no thanks. but you go

ahead.

i can be tired, hungry, and paranoid

on my own these days.