tonight I cried

prepared as I was with 
a pinot noire
and a pipe truth be told
so that I could drift afar
from a smoke-filled brain
to a wine-dressed heart
remembering what grew me
what words overthrew me
a writer had died
was he all that, I thought
or more like a builder
a plumber, a doctor,
a runner, a cyclist, a teacher,
a mobster
who raps the truth
with poetic restraint
tonight I cried like I did for Lennon
and Janis not Ian but Joplin the saint
I cried like a child who can’t
find its toy
poured a glass had a toke
with such risible joy
tonight I cried
for all I was worth
hereafter indulging in heroes
now gone
still gnawing at nerves
still proving their worth.