Lonnie Garamond was disturbed by the face

that looked back at him from the bathroom mirror

He looked older than he remembered

it was as if all forty-two years of his life

had suddenly leap frogged over each other

and crash landed in his face

He was middle-aged and the truth hit him

like a man with no parachute

the eyes were golfballs

the skin hung on his face like a cheap suit

and the trapdoor of greasy black frizz

that he combed from one side of his head to the other

to hide his baldness

in reality emphasized it

It was 2:30 in the morning Nov. 22nd 1963

and Lonnie couldn't sleep

Lonnie took a last look at the face

and popped another sleeping tablet

under his sandpaper tongue

and slipped into a cold, dark sleep

The last thing Lonnie saw

before his eyes finally closed

was his camera watching him

from the other side of the Motel room

but the camera wasn't loaded yet

Lonnie Garamond was a loser

Lonnie Garamond was a loser

Lonnie Garamond was a loser

and he really hated being that

Lonnie's body clock woke him at 8:30 sharp

He stabbed a button by his bed

and the TV crackled into life

showing the crowds already gathering

in Dealy Plaza

He showered, shaved, and slipped into an Ivy League jacket

and brown slacks and loaded the camera

The Stetson put the icing on the southern cake

and he headed for the parking lot

leaving the key behind in his room

he knew he wouldn't be coming back

Lonnie Garamond was a loser

Lonnie Garamond was a loser

Lonnie Garamond was a loser

and he really hated being that

Lonnie parked the Buick and ran down Pacific St.

It was 12.15 and he wanted to be outside

the Texas School Book Depository

before the moto