GLOW-STICK

                Flash Fiction / Prose Poem

I go to Burning Man and the first stranger I meet is The Red Barron. 
He turned a tractor into a Fokker Dr.1, red with a black and silver 
Iron Cross painted on the tail. Oddly The Red Baron wears cargo 
shorts and is very fond of psilocybin. He turns me on with shrooms. 
He also turns me on to Mary the Mad Hatter, a forty something blonde 
with an absolutely huge blue floppy hat. Mary likes to chit-chat 
and is sharp as a tack by day, but at night she likes to dance, 
wearing only clothing made of glow-sticks. I go to her show 
high as a kite, my body moans; the glow is amazing when in motion 
to the drone of up-beat trance music, dance is what we all do, 
what we all grove to in the dark of the desert.

Looking around the crowd, I scan faces and spot my old friend LeRoy 
who I met back in ninety three at a Buddhist retreat in Santa Monica. 
He's an old hippy and looks like a cross between the fourth Dr. Who 
and The Gyro Captain from Mad Max, complete with goggles. 
I dance over to him and we hug, say a few words, and dance together, 
until he says "Love You Man, I gotta go find Wanda;" 
he turns on a dime, and spins off into the night to find her. 

Some people are born to be stars, LeRoy was born a comet.

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