Me and Bobby McGee

By Mark Jackley

The deejay interrupted 
Tears of a Clown to say
Janis was dead, my sweet Lord,
it’s too late baby, though
I’m going out of order, 
Tapestry came later,
after Janis swooned for Bobby, 
windshield wipers slapping time.
Freedom’s just another word 
for nothing left to use,
ask the poet scarred 
by acne and Port Arthur,
found at the Hollywood Motor Hotel 
blue-lipped, clutching a cig. 
She really did try to make it, 
my Lord, I want to see you,
I really want to be with you, 
oh god, please fucking listen—
if there’s a smile on my face, 
it’s only trying to fool the public.

Mark Jackley’s poems have appeared in Fifth Wednesday, Sugar House Review, The Cape Rock, Talking River, Cagibi, and other journals. His book Many Suns Will Rise is forthcoming from The Main Street Rag Press. He lives in Purcellville, Virginia.

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