something just short of disheveled

something just short of disheveled

A Poem by Philip Gaber


 

I 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 Gaber


My Review

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Reviews

This really rocketed me back in time! You have a great knack for dialogue and making scenes come alive! I read some reviews on your books and I just love reading anyhoo. I know they'll be awesome.

Posted 4 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Philip Gaber

4 Months Ago

Thanks, GeeKay. I hope you enjoy them.
Thanks, Everett, that's very kind of you. Thanks for the review

Posted 4 Months Ago


I am stunned, this was nothing short of inspiring. You've masterfully woven a captivating world full of emotion and imagery.

Posted 4 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

An uncredible, I think autobiographical story that pushes a lot of my personal buttons. The one thing that stands out from a lot of the points I would like to make about this is the flow and the rythmn of this life.
Incredible writing.

Posted 4 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Philip Gaber

4 Months Ago

Thanks, KLen. If it pushed your buttons, it most certainly pushed mine, too. Thanks for stopping by .. read more
Philip,
What a fine story!... Reminds me of a song on Barry McGuire's' "Eve of Destruction" album called "Mr Man on the Street." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFltOAUa1fE
What a great poem for an open mic...!
Vol

Posted 4 Months Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Philip Gaber

4 Months Ago

Thanks, Vol, I'll look around, see if Charlotte has any...
Vol

4 Months Ago

NC? Of course they do... You can find them in the local "underground" newspaper in the classifieds.... read more
Philip Gaber

4 Months Ago

Thanks!...

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5 Reviews
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Added on August 5, 2024
Last Updated on August 5, 2024

Author

Philip Gaber
Philip Gaber

Charlotte, NC



About
I 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..

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