Walking through the park
staring at Mother Nature’s art,
enjoying the feeling of
being alone in a crowd.
That beautiful feeling vanishes
as a weirdo walks up to me and
breathes stinkingly into my sensitive nostrils.
“I’ll give you a quarter for a cigarette.”
To get rid of him quickly I offer him a
cigarette for free.
“What day is it today?”
apparently, the cigarette is not enough,
he wants to talk.
“Today is Saturday.”
“I had a few hundred bucks at the beginning of the week
…lent it to my friends… they haven’t paid me back.”
bullshit says I as I stare at his heavily nicotine-stained fingers,
“You should acquire more reliable friends,” I say aloud,
“Damn right! One of my friends tried to commit suicide last night.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Didn’t work though. He’s always been a lousy shot.”
He laughs hideously and ambles into the crowd
and I stand puzzled and wondering why
I attract weirdos at the Festival of Friends.
A band is playing so I sit on the grass
(by myself goddammit)
letting the environment soak into my soul,
then a kid sits beside me and I can smell his unclean breath,
there’s lots of room elsewhere but he chooses to sit
…directly beside me…
of course, he strikes up a conversation.
“Nice looking girl in the band.”
“Yeah.”
I try not to encourage him,
of course, my attempt failed.
“That guy’s camera looks expensive….” blah blah blah,
I miss the rest of the information which is
technical and means nothing to me.
I remain silent.
“It’s supposed to rain tonight.”
OK says I to myself,
I remain silent, hoping he’ll get the hell away from me.
“My name is Ivan but my friends call me Steve.”
I mumble something and clam up,
“My friend attempted suicide last night…but he failed.”
I look intensely at him with the word conspiracy
reverberating in my head.
This must be a plot to decrease my sanity,
I remain silent waiting for the rest to follow:
“…he’s always been a lousy shot.”
He laughs hideously and ambles into the crowd
and I sit confused and despairing, wondering why
I attract weirdos at the Festival of Friends.
I talked to my sleep to cancel my turmoil,
a volcanic eruption in my head hummed
hideously, disappeared into the realm
of my unconscious state…a face flashed
before my eyes, grinning excruciatingly, painfully.
I asked the soul inside the face to help me out
…he ambled away into the crowd of my dreams.
I turned off that dream, slept uneasily,
the pounding of new dreams infiltrated my slumber,
I stared into an abyss of shit stinking
the peace out of my head as a man dressed to
symbolize God continually repeated:
“You are their mirror,
you are their mirror.”
I woke up in the park with a start
and asked a stranger for a cigarette,
I offered him a quarter, he offered me a butt for free,
I told him: “My friend attempted suicide last night,
…but he failed.”
I ambled away laughing hideously
shouting through stinking breath:
“He’s always been a lousy shot.”
Notes
- The things you find when you’re digitizing your old stuff! I’m estimating the date.
- I really did meet Weirdos at the Festival of Friends!
Written: 1983