December 18, 1966 (I was 22)
XMAS ‘66
Sidewalk Santas
Accordion’s din
Salvation pot
To put dollars in
Headless bundles
Go by on the street
A nigger-man
Old, blind, dog at his feet
“Christ” utters one
“What is worse than to be
An old nigger-man
Who can’t even see?”
Reflecting on this
I barely heard the old man
“What is worse?
To be a young one who can”
October 22, 1966 (I was 21)
north boy
Remote was the lake
and forest of pine.
A dull boy in the dust
from an open pit mine
knew Bohunks and Finns
and Dago Red wine.
It was little of books
that he knew but he’d take
three-two beer with his friends
beneath the trees to the lake
where they’d drink and discuss
the great lives that they’d make.
Education’s slow breath
engendered reserve
a dislike for his life
of un-sophisticate verve.
And he has yet to discern
the use it served.
May 12, 1966 (I was 21)
A little girl approximately
eleven with freckles and dangling
blond hair and round Keane eyes
followed the spasmodic
downward dashings
of a silver pellet
pinball
o
Lights flashed
springs thunked and
bells bink bink binked
a barrage of points
Her fingers with bitten nails
snapped flippers and stabbed flippers
flaunting a professional flair
With big girl ferocity banged the glass
bumper gunch and didn't jump joyously
when the ball plunked down
SPECIAL
O
WHEN LIT
She just pushed the reset to begin
the reverse score calculation spin &
flipped her hair in arrogant satisfaction
October 5, 1966 (I was 21)
I miss the northern autumns now
those aging times
requiring coats to fend off thoughts
thoughts of wintery coldness.
That time when crisp old cynic winds
winds grave but fresh
reveal their spirit one more time
to slap youthful faces.
But paradoxically a warmth
a colored warmth of red and gold
pervades the autumnal souls
of those who have understood the summer.
