1964 IN TATTERS
(a voice from the grave)
Now that we've pasted the memories back in the blank,
we can run once more amiss towards the forgetting of
what once was : the car-port, bedecked with the '59 Galaxie
and the slime from the grease-gun, that guy Bob Braun
writing journalistic pieces on the non-education of the
American west, my girlfriend, Mary-Lou doing you.
-
That was, back then, when I learned why Kerouac lied.
The sweater that never fit, the old clothing, handed down,
from the lumberjack/railroad bum Freddy Siam, each of
those things went into my running from the reality that was:
two fucking gendarmes from the military recruitment office
coming down the street where I lived. Parking their '65 Chevy
in a spot near the schoolhouse, they brazenly pretended to
nonchalance, walking once past the house as if they didn't
know where I was. 'Vietnam is calling' they said, and if
I wasn't ready for them they sure as Hell were ready for me.
'This is like some fucking bad dream' I said, 'and you are
Stalin's really bad henchmen.' No matter, they laughed it off.
-
No one would believe me if I tell it again.
How, in 1964, this country, even back then,
was turning into a freaking piece of shit.
Ever since that day, not a single thing
has changed. Believe me, I know.
(a voice from the grave)
Now that we've pasted the memories back in the blank,
we can run once more amiss towards the forgetting of
what once was : the car-port, bedecked with the '59 Galaxie
and the slime from the grease-gun, that guy Bob Braun
writing journalistic pieces on the non-education of the
American west, my girlfriend, Mary-Lou doing you.
-
That was, back then, when I learned why Kerouac lied.
The sweater that never fit, the old clothing, handed down,
from the lumberjack/railroad bum Freddy Siam, each of
those things went into my running from the reality that was:
two fucking gendarmes from the military recruitment office
coming down the street where I lived. Parking their '65 Chevy
in a spot near the schoolhouse, they brazenly pretended to
nonchalance, walking once past the house as if they didn't
know where I was. 'Vietnam is calling' they said, and if
I wasn't ready for them they sure as Hell were ready for me.
'This is like some fucking bad dream' I said, 'and you are
Stalin's really bad henchmen.' No matter, they laughed it off.
-
No one would believe me if I tell it again.
How, in 1964, this country, even back then,
was turning into a freaking piece of shit.
Ever since that day, not a single thing
has changed. Believe me, I know.
1 comment:
that dactyl makes my poetry look cheery
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