When You are Old
When you are gray and decrepit,
Sitting by a fireplace in your two story Beverly Hills stucco.
Remember what you stole from me,
My head once smooth, now purple and shadowed.
I will throw at you in poems flippantly,
Of the nightmares you gave to me,
Drowning in grief’s waters, I couldn’t breathe!
Monsoons of lovers that weren’t,
Given shelter nor sunshine,
Because of what you executed.
My heart now deadened by the unrelenting howls of time.
And you are always the Goozooneh that filched a dream not yet formed.
How many women’s graces have you taken gladly with zest and zeal
Or was I the only one from which you steal?
Your love of beauty false.
That Persian soul that pillages and hates my American parts,
But YOU feel like an Infidel in me!
I cannot then have helped glowing with naïveté.
My sheltered Catholic upbringing did not prepare me for the likes of you.
Do you murmur now, sadly of regret?
Or has time been kind and let you forget?
Sitting with the Santa Monica Mountains overhead.
Do you hid your face amid a crowd of stars,
Or will I get my wish,
You to be washed by the cold dead seas.
“Goozooneh” is Farsi for asshole speaks too much and farts a lot