JUST YESTERDAY
I will not know the meaning of want as
it wanes - 'everyday in every way, things
are getting better', that old 1930's rant.
My friend O'Toole's green Plymouth, sunk
on its springs and listing, finally made us
walk. To the bowling alley. To S. Klein's.
To Shipley's, for late ham and eggs.
It was like that everywhere - one was
either in the war, already home crippled, or
out of work and dirt-dead poor and
running for your life. Railyards held
all the secrets we ever wanted to find:
starlight in the night, an old winsome moon
saluting the caverns, and a girl or two,
out late, slinking around to see what
was there. One side of Hoboken
was covered in railyards; the other
teemed with hot-headed Italian hoodlums
all stupid and horny and dumb as Hell.
Whatever we did, we usually wound
up doing it twice. Getting better in
every way. Practice - like an old
bare tree still learning to grow
again its new green leaves.
I will not know the meaning of want as
it wanes - 'everyday in every way, things
are getting better', that old 1930's rant.
My friend O'Toole's green Plymouth, sunk
on its springs and listing, finally made us
walk. To the bowling alley. To S. Klein's.
To Shipley's, for late ham and eggs.
It was like that everywhere - one was
either in the war, already home crippled, or
out of work and dirt-dead poor and
running for your life. Railyards held
all the secrets we ever wanted to find:
starlight in the night, an old winsome moon
saluting the caverns, and a girl or two,
out late, slinking around to see what
was there. One side of Hoboken
was covered in railyards; the other
teemed with hot-headed Italian hoodlums
all stupid and horny and dumb as Hell.
Whatever we did, we usually wound
up doing it twice. Getting better in
every way. Practice - like an old
bare tree still learning to grow
again its new green leaves.
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