BEAT POLICEMAN
He said he was a beat policeman. Even though
I imagined a guy in a beret with bongos and a
cigarette, he meant he was a cop who walked
twelfth street. Oh well, the fun was still there,
or did I put my foot in it?
-
No different than walking with a podiatrist. Would
that be right? I don't know and I never wonder.
All things are now so strange that all I can do is
walk the water at Pine Street, or climb the pines
on Water Street. Oh jeez, there I go again.
-
Fake french accents slay me - all that nasal stuff
with a twisted tongue. The raised eyebrows of a
sixty-year-old man never make much sense. And
I'm a guy; imagine what it does to girls, and young
girls especially. I'm up to my neck in all that, and
I feel guilt every step of the way. Pearl necklace,
anyone? I'm glad I'm not gay.
-
He meant to say he was a cop. He meant to say he
was a cop, filthy, in a city of sin where now, two old
gizzards of some old white-house days will be waltzing
their new Matilda into the effrontery of the mayor's
mansion. Me, I hope they can all arrange it, to die
together in one fell swoop - and take their dirty
process with them. Blind boy beggar beat cop
now wearing his stupid beret.
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