I try to keep awake and watch the street
While Alan, friend and roommate, tries to sleep.
We take turns every night and sometimes treat
Ourselves to tugging off of something cheap.
I wake up in a sweat because I think
My turn to watch was now, when I had slept;
And Alan knows, he hands me a stiff drink
To chase away the ghouls from where they’ve crept.
Some lonely nights we both stay up and wait
To see if one is hiding ‘round the store,
Or walking past our window with that gait,
Or crouching with a whisper at our door.
Six months ago – it seems as many years –
I didn’t dare believe or know to fear.
Posts Tagged ‘Street’
The Testament of Plymouth Garibaldi
Posted: December 20, 1992 in PoetryTags: Drink, Fear, Ghoul, Sleep, Street
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I think of many things
that I want to say,
to scream, to sing, to shout,
with/to/for/at
all the people
who might stand around
and listen.
people play frisbee
across the warm street
on the grass field
as I turn from my window
and sit on the floor
to watch my walls closely
stay the same color.
the silence of a late night drive.
empty streets of wizened asphault.
my tadpole car rattles from lamp to lamp…
My harmonica
It is good news
Even though it only
Sings the blues.
Like Willie Brown
Harp in hand
Playin’ at the crossroads
Yeah, he’s my man!
I’m feeling great
Yup, just fine
With my old harp
I’m gonna whine.
Shaking all the hills
Playin’ to the beat
Makin’ all the people
Go dancing in the street.
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