Playing Bongos in Topanga Canyon

Several members of our tribe are
breathing slowly, exhaling with tenderness
the holy incense of the day

Shakha opens tent flaps and
scurries to exchange the
stinky bong water for fresh

Empties grimy slog into
Topanga Canyon’s stream
without fear of discovery

We are in the back of
the deep woods now
Our prayers answered

Don strums his twelve-string
as singers attempt the dazed
yet sweet harmonies of ambivalence

© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil

For The Sunday Whirl, click to see Wordle and other folks’ posts. Thanks, Brenda, for some words that almost gave me a contact high… but that was the 70s for ya. The memories do linger after all these years. Some flashbacks are quite sweet, and so are the people.

Also at my poetic all-time clear-headed high, Poets United!