<>Dad says, “It’s time you know.”
“One more bad tattoo,”
“and streets will run with blood.”
He’s gonna “kill both of you.”
“Speaking of cars, don’t go on-board
That god-damned contraption, that pink Cadillac
It gives your poor father a heart attack
And we both know very well we don’t want that.”
“Whatever you heard, whatever you learned,
from that soul-sapping, toe-tapping blue jukebox,
You should consider that your mind is littered,
You should ignore that no-good jock.”
“Damn t.v., it don’t know, it only shows
apocalypse, the end times, civil unrest
every bit there, I tell you, it’s all unclean.
Don’t listen to that. Please listen to me.”
Dad says, “It’s time you know.
One more bad tattoo,
and streets will run with blood.”
He’s gonna “kill both of you.”
I’d rather have fun than be wholesome, but father know’s best
I’ll come by, on a loud bike, you’ll wear a dress.
My bike likes Ike. I like Ike. I’m jumping the shark.
Dance Watusi and the hand jive. Batsui in the dark.
It’s an impossible mission that we’re on.
We’ll have espionage just like James Bond.
Baby hold on, hold on, we’ll both self-destruct.
Let’s get away with disorderly conduct.
We can beat the A team, steal all their cash,
Spend it on black clothes, dress up like the clash.
Empty out the bottles and fill up the flask,
and we’ll both help out when Mars attacks.
Dad says, “It’s time you know.
One more bad tattoo,
and streets will run with blood.”
He’s gonna “kill both of you.”
My recent move to Baltimore has given me an opportunity to have everything I own in one place, for the first time in almost ten years. With all my notebooks and boxes of papers together again, I could spread them out on my floor, and sort them. Honestly, I threw most of those papers away. Many of them were redundant copies, obsolete drafts, notes, etc. Many more of those papers were bad teenage poems.
