something just short of disheveledA Poem by Philip GaberI moved around, here and there, sold mantras on the street for a buck seventy-five apiece, tried to become mainstream but the counterculture wasn’t having it. They kidnapped me, threw me in the back of a Volkswagen bus, fed me cheap wine from a brown jug, pumpkin seeds and sunflower seeds in honey, read from Das Capital, Allen Ginsberg, made me audition for the role of Claude Hooper Bukowski in a road production of “Hair”. I wasn’t all that impressed with their rhetoric or their sideburns, so I escaped and landed on my knees next to some fat alley cats who were waiting for their Welfare checks. I ducked into a bookstore owned by a man in a red baseball cap and a Santa Claus beard. He nearly blinded me with his high-beam eyes and offered me a cup of green tea. “You look like you could use a friend and some meaningful conversation,” he said. I nodded even though I was too sleepy for friendship or meaningful conversation. I asked him if he had a back room where I could take a nap for about an hour or so. “You ain’t a narc, are ya?” he said. “No, sir.” He pointed to a door in the rear of the store that a had a cardboard sign thumb-nailed to it: GOING HOME, it said, and it looked like it was painted with fluorescent red spray paint. I turned the knob to the right but it was locked. I turned it to the left, and it opened. I looked back at the owner, who was binding a copy of the King James Bible, smoking Indian bidis, and watching cartoons on a 13-inch black and white TV. I entered the room. It looked to be about 9 by 12. There was a cot leaning against the far wall. That was it. I lay down and took a few deep breaths. My nose began to run. There was a powerful odor of eucalyptus in the air. I closed my eyes. I heard some voices on the other side of the wall. Two young men, probably teenagers, skipping school. - I dunno, man… - Dude, you’re sweating… - Yeah, my heart’s goin’ crazy, too…I’m not gonna do anymore… - It’s not cut right…something’s off… - Yeah, flush it down the shitter…I ain’t in the mood to o.d. tonight… When I awoke, the sun was coming up. And I became half a human being again, in and of myself. © 2024 Philip GaberReviews
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5 Reviews Added on August 5, 2024 Last Updated on August 5, 2024 AuthorPhilip GaberCharlotte, NCAboutI hate writing biographies. I was one of those kids who rode a banana seat bike and watched Saturday morning cartoons and Soul Train. But my mother would never buy any of those sugary cereals for us k.. more..Writing
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