5865. THE CONFRATERNITY OF PUNKMEISTERS

THE CONFRATERNITY 

OF PUNKMEISTERS

(having a beer at Marlon Peeps Inn)

Just then they all stopped moving : like a frozen sculpture

made of some darkened ice, the place went still. Even the

loud music drew itself to a draw  -  staccato thru crescendo

rising up to endo. No pencils here, just cigarettes; and even

the girls were dear. I had a transistor radio from 1964  -  

holding it up I shouted 'this is for sale!' and a few heads

looked up. Made by Emerson  -  which was a transistor

radio, electronics company back then. They used to have a

large billboard over the roadway as you'd exit the Holland

Tunnel in New Jersey  -  'If you lived here, you'd be home

by now!' As if anyone cared for a reverse commute that 

would bring them home to the confines of Jersey City New

Jersey Frank Hague's Perpendicular  Kingdom of the 

Propped-Up Dead. It's all over now anyway  -  everything's

gone. The radio in my hand was nothing but eighty-five bucks

of retro shit. Black plastic case with silver embossed fake.

Let's at least try to look expensive while we let them eat

cake. The trembling goes on. The fear and the trembling both.

Remember Harry Angstrom? Updike's guy from the Rabbit

books. Guilt and Angst and Fear. Everything together. Harry

Angstrom's long ago dead, and we are living in his wake.