Dear John was published in Out Loud: A Year in Review 2017.
Dear John,
I never could imagine
That we were meant to be:
Your dark humor and your anger
Were a little much for me.
Though you always spoke
Of giving peace a chance
I suspect your sweetness
Would surrender to your rants.
Yes, you were a genius
With such intensity,
But, dear John, I’m sorry,
There was someone else for me.
Dear George,
There was something
In the way you moved,
And oh, my gosh, your hair!
I could have loved you best
Had he not been standing there.
You pondered “What is Life?”
And welcome in the sun,
I’ll never figure out myself
Why you weren’t the one.
George, you were a poet
A quiet mystic, to be sure:
You had all the traits I say I love,
But it seems I wanted more.
Dear Ringo,
If I ever threw a party
With the guest list of my dreams
You would top the list—
You’re the fun one, so it seems.
I know you acted naturally,
And what you saw, you got—
I quite admire you, Ringo,
But the one I love . . you’re not.
Dear Paul,
Maybe I’m amazed
That after all this time
I choose to write this letter
Expressed in awful rhyme.
I was just a young girl
Who would have loved to have held your hand,
Yes, I was one of thousands
Of your screaming, crying fans
Who adored your boyish smile
And your soulful eyes
You could have sung the alphabet
And never even tried.
But all of that was yesterday
And I’ve come to realize
That you’ve sung the soundtrack of my life
All the hellos and goodbyes.
I’ve danced to your silly love songs
And learned to let it be,
Watched as you’ve grown old
Right along with me.
Yes, I did still love you
When you turned sixty-four
And though I am not counting
I’ll love you sixty more.
