Morning. Early. Classical music
on the radio, coffee brewing.
My computer is in the shop.
The air-conditioner is running.
I woke up bathed in sweat.
Rowan says, “Grandpa’s pillow
smells funny.” It’s just Grandpa, Rowan.
It don’t make me a bad person. One day
in the life. Life and death in the fast lane
and the breakdown lane. Then it’s over.
It isn’t over yet. Beethoven’s late quartets.
De Daumier-Smith’s blue period.
A dog-eared copy of Catcher in the Rye.
“The Class of ’57 Had Its Dreams.”
The Statler Brothers. “No Goodwill Stores
in
in
In a band Charlie Rich had been in.
In a band with Bobby Bradford.
Generation of Strainers is about
the Class of ’57. Some of us wanted to
make a difference. Some wanted to knock
your dick in the dirt. Get over on you.
Philip Wylie was against shopping.
Momism. He said all American advertising
was designed to ask the question, “Madame,
are you a good lay?” Was I a good lay?
I don’t remember. I remember reading
Generation of Vipers at the USO.
I was a bookworm. I was a reader.
Now I am a Grandpa and it doesn’t matter.
Now I am an underground writer.