On Saturday, September 30, 2023 at 6:55:23 AM UTC-4, Ilya Shambat wrote:
> On Friday, April 7, 2023 at 8:15:16 AM UTC+10, W.Dockery wrote:
>
> > Desolation Summer
> >
> > Last Spring
> > I waited downstairs
> > on the
> > empty street below.
> >
> > After waiting a while
> > I tossed a penny
> > up to her window
> > but still she didn't show.
> >
> > A thought came to me then
> > it told me to walk away.
> >
> > I didn't need to
> > live through
> > that year again once through 1975 was plenty.
> >
> > So I sit here in my hovel
> > and I wear
> > the required mask.
> >
> > I know that
> > we shall live again
> > this too shall pass.
> >
> > Starting on this poem
> > I pick for a topic.
> >
> > A year
> > almost as odd
> > as this one.
> > Filled with humor
> > tension and fear.
> >
> > It taxed my patience
> > wondering what
> > would come next.
> >
> > One day after another
> > none better
> > and never the best.
> >
> > It was 1975
> > all that adolescent angst.
> >
> > As I read "Howl"
> > and "Planet News"
> > in my new abode
> > a tent in the back yard.
> >
> > Spring came and went
> > dark and brooding
> > with a jester facade.
> >
> > We were getting our kicks
> > way out in the sticks.
> >
> > I was popping little white pills
> > and focused
> > on the white lines
> > of River Road.
> >
> > Taxi driving
> > a few freaks
> > out to the rocks
> > of Mulberry Creek.
> >
> > Jump cut to Summer
> > for me it was
> > Highway 61 Revisited
> > and Metal Machine Music
> > and "a lot of soul," he said.
> >
> > Making my way through
> > Jack Kerouac
> > what few titles
> > I could find that year.
> >
> > Summer vacation was on
> > I was now
> > in the practice room
> > of a band named Blue Heat.
> >
> > I was writing lyrics
> > where the light was
> > by the window.
> >
> > And there on that
> > Desolate weekend
> > in a shack outside La Grange
> > we recorded
> > a few more songs.
> >
> > Where was Heather
> > she who
> > we fought over so?
> >
> > She'd evaded us all
> > and was long gone.
> >
> > We traded a few letters
> > me in La Grange
> > she in Dothan.
> >
> > Swore we'd never forget
> > that lasted until mid-Summer.
> >
> > I came back to the city
> > and was swept up
> > in a rapid fire
> > series of situations.
> >
> > When there seemed
> > no other choice
> > but to follow
> > that political machine.
> >
> > I was not surprised
> > we'd meet again among the pines.
> >
> > I sat at the piano
> > and pecked out the tune
> > about an old man
> > who lived one yard over.
> >
> > The Island Girl named Shirley
> > she was new in town
> > her father now stationed
> > at Fort Benning.
> >
> > We made eye contact
> > and both knew
> > at first sight
> > we wanted to experiment.
> >
> > She was fast
> > and used a New York twang
> > we clicked fast.
> >
> > My father had given me
> > an electric blue
> > 1969 Plymouth Satellite
> > she jumped in with me
> > for a ride.
> >
> > I kicked the radio up loud
> > kicked in third gear
> > and listened
> > as she sang along
> > with the tunes.
> >
> > In many ways
> > there never was another
> > dark night of the soul.
> >
> > Quite like 1975
> > turned out to me
> > for both Shirley and me.
> >
> > It taxed
> > my spirit and soul
> > the negative events
> > of that year.
> >
> > Events that kept unfolding
> > ending so much
> > I had held dear.
> >
> > Sickness and violence
> > in that strange new age.
> >
> > I was buzzing along
> > Buena Vista Road
> > just past the Spiderweb
> > and cut in line too close.
> >
> > Racism was real
> > I could see it
> > from my rear view
> > I could see the rage.
> >
> > Rusty Volt shaking his fist
> > an ass whipping for me
> > from a football jock
> > I was suddenly on his list.
> >
> > Hung a right onto
> > Lindsay Creek Bypass.
> >
> > Time for some Steve McQueen
> > night moves.
> >
> > Rope a dope driving
> > down the highway.
> >
> > Shirley was laughing
> > but it was no joke.
> >
> > My slick moves
> > in traffic
> > even I had to laugh
> > at those.
> >
> > I was young and brash
> > and I spotted his car at times.
> >
> > But I knew
> > the backstreets
> > better than him.
> >
> > It taxed my imagination
> > to see such a negative scene.
> >
> > It happened so fast
> > without foreshadowing.
> >
> > We all made our way
> > through that dim
> > yet blazing year.
> >
> > The best we could
> > any way that we could.
> >
> > Living like an animal
> > perhaps
> > like Mother Nature planned
> > even giving up my name.
> >
> > My father was angry
> > to the point that
> > he was stalking me.
> >
> > I had broken the code
> > and he'd broken
> > my confidence in him.
> >
> > I had stopped
> > by the house
> > Shirley was with me.
> >
> > What was I thinking
> > that everything was rhetorical?
> >
> > My father was next door
> > sitting with Robert
> > on the front porch.
> >
> > I glanced as I passed by
> > saw his cold blue stare.
> >
> > Then came the weeks
> > of intense
> > bitter disappointment
> > with everything and everyone
> > I had trusted.
> >
> > Both sides were
> > against us
> > and Shirley folded
> > and her father put her
> > into another school.
> >
> > I became withdrawn
> > strumming
> > "House of the Rising Sun"
> > for hours without even singing.
> >
> > Rusty Volt caught me
> > in the parking lot
> > weeks later
> > one day after school
> >
> > After the bottom fell out
> > and I
> > had conceded defeat.
> >
> > But much to my surprise Rusty had changed.
> > Rather than fighting
> > he asked
> > if I had a joint to smoke.
> >
> > The war was over
> > both personal
> > and in the 'Nam
> > just in time
> > in both cases.
> >
> > Murder is a crime
> > The Clash set that straight
> > forty years ago...
> > "Know your rights... all three of them."
> >
> > But all that
> > was still to come
> > in grim and greasy November.
> >
> > Traffic on Cusetta Road
> > was backed up
> > like some funeral procession.
> >
> > I slowly drove
> > as the rain fell
> > so all alone
> > again.
> >
> > Madness and decay
> > as reality slips away.
> >
> > If I had proof
> > it was a hoax
> > then I might have
> > joined him on the line.
> >
> > But I learned
> > a long time ago
> > alliances
> > can be fleeting.
> >
> > Those who stand
> > for abstract ideas
> > may sometimes fall
> > for anything.
> >
> > -Will Dockery (July 19 2020)
> >
> > ----
> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/desolation-summer.html
> Excellent work Will.

Good evening, Ilya, thanks again for reading and commenting.

🙂