9208. DISHEVELLED GUN

DISHEVELLED GUN

So it was on Albemarle Street and the

man had a dishevelled gun; black guy,

seemed too big for his own opinion

and walking around like that, with a

strut, he already deserved a jail. I'd ask

what was the last book he'd ever read,

but he'd probably not even understand.

Man, we have to put up with his kind

always? Whatever he was doing, it wasn't

for me and I intended to pass right by.

On the other corner, the Salvation Army

Store was busy, black guys too, pushing

carts of clothes across the street from

the receiving room and the offices,

where they checked and cleaned and

then priced the incoming clothes. I'd

guess. Other than that, just a Newark

slum filled with filth and scabs and

now Mexicans too, in little round cars

filled with 7 or 8 people. They pull

in like monkeys chattering, and all file

out together. Whatever they eventually

buy, I guess it's all shared among them.

I can never figure out the poor; I mean

the lousy poor, who shop used clothes

and sneakers. Illegals, and dudes without

money. Landscapers and apartment

painters. Snide bastards too. But I

never complain. They talk in English

when they have to, but mostly use

their local tongue. That's OK. I

don't speak Ciudad Juarez either.

-

What's with all this anyway? Up above

my head the railroad passes  -  New

Jersey Transit, with those shitty, 

cramped trains and Amtrak and Acela,

with their speed and acclaim. Want to

go to Philly, or DC? Here's your grab.

Metropark or Newark, either one is

fab. But, here and now is Newark,

where everything's broken down :

the culture and the magic are all 

gone. I used to come here, in a

'62 Chevy estate wagon, to pick

up a Spanish guy named Angel.

Now that's all gone  - those old

Spanish types are finished, and

I don't know where they've gone.

-

Everything's been replaced now

anyways, with cereal kids  -  Kix 

and Cheerios and Alpha-Bits. I've

not met a kid yet named Kix, but

I bet it's coming soon  -  pack the

car enough and someone will have

a baby, right? Look at those old 

stones that make up the wall. New

graffiti for sure -  nifty and modern.

Today's 'brites' got the old colors 

beat, and they get away with this

stuff now easy. It's so simple. No

one draws nudes of their sister on

the wall  -  just weird names in big

fat and goofy letters. 'Tyco 21', 

and 'Mash Omari 3'. What's any 

of it mean; beats me. Along the

McCarter Highway now, in fact,

to combat the graffiti, they have

some guys's painting of white

dresses, repeated like 30 times, 

all down the rock-wall row.

-

Nothing left for me; I want to

go get drunk in the old Mac Turner's

Tavern that was on the corner, but

it's now gone and I don't care. I can

still go to McGovern's, but that's a

hell-hole now, and the last time I

was there they were holding a union

meeting in the big back room and I

just sat at the bar  -  where this ancient

old lady, probably 70, just stared at

me for half the hour. She had one of

those small grocery carts, the kind

you pull along, and it was filled

with baby clothes, while she wore

a full-length, old tweed jacket. The

whole scene was weird, but they'd 

let her in and she nursed a beer.

Staring at me, enough that I wanted

to punch her out. Somebody's Mama,

I figured; so I just let it go.