The Protectorate Of Dreams Poem by Romella Kitchens

Older now, it is a summer day, he
is strutting down the street with a jacket
with a Beatles logo on the back, feeling
cool, feeling as if Janis Joplin is still alive
and Jimi Hendrix just played his guitar into
his soul.
He is forgetting someone killed John Lennon
years ago for being an epiphany, for being a
stark miracle of manhood. For genius beyond
genius of words, politics and lifestyle.

His neat, new, indigo blue denim jacket.
His soul strut walk.
He lived Rock N Roll then, before
everyone grew older and gray
before Yoko heard the gun blasting
and began decades of weeping.