I spent a night in jail last September.
Met a man named Nate.
Who was dressed head-to-toe in corduroy.
He was in for larceny.
Stuck there for a while.
He gave me a granola bar.
And changed my vision of jail.
A year later.
He found me in Manhattan.
Said he Googled Coyote Blood.
Weird.
We split the rent.
and the women.
all except one.
a brunette punk rocker called Dawson.
Her lower half.
Was my favorite half.
She made us pancakes
and worte poetry on the walls in crayon.
If it weren't for that night in jail last year.
and Corduroy Nate with his coordinates.
I would not have had her for six months.
and this bank of memories.