If I had
stayed in America
would I
have ended up in Berkeley,
in North
Beach, or Haight-Ashbury?
Where would
I draw the line?
Would I
have been attracted or repelled?
How would
the sex have been?
A man who
is now no more
than a
shadow, and was even then -
shaven
head, jacket grey and gabardine,
looking
like the war we had emerged from
too
serious, so hip I found him square.
I had
tamped down those terrors,
my lips
were smeared with pixie pink.
I hadn’t abandoned my saddle shoes
and jazz
was so hip it was square.
We danced
to R&B then, Hunter Hancock,
East LA, and when
Rexroth came to town
I thought
it pretty pretentious,
the poetry hitched to jazz, I mean,
the poetry hitched to jazz, I mean,
and
my crew cut Virgil was surprised.
He must have known me better than I did then,
he must have sensed that one day
I would come around.
He must have known me better than I did then,
he must have sensed that one day
I would come around.
I enjoyed this poem very much!
ReplyDeleteOther lives we might have lived. An endless curiosity. We have to hope we moved to the right dance or chance.
ReplyDeleteI think I did, Susan. But, as you say, endlessly intriguing.
ReplyDelete