Fantasy Fest...the pretenders' quest.

Greetings from the watcher on the Hill.

A chorale piece from Havana fills the room, four windows
forty eight panes cleaned inside and out, exercise for the
arms and pleasure for the eyes, a back wind blowing
through the bathroom and open kitchen door through
the open original front door, Tiger taking the breeze
on the newly painted floor.....
"Keeping up with the people next door," laughs
the oldman still finding the absurdity of life.

"Major introduction there, don't fuck up the rhyme,
or heaven forbid dangle the pentameter,"
snides the smartone.

"Well, do you have something to say, a jest perhest,
ruminations on gentrifications, reflections on the past
wasted and forgotten in a drunken bed, perhaps
something nice to say....", suggested the Korean gardener.

"Absolutely, Coy Poy,( his name )... the sky is blue
and time to enjoy the sunny side of the street
for a Barrywalk and treats for whoever visits."

The chicken soup simmered on the gas stove,
four cats on four chairs waited for lunch,
peaceful before the engineer arrived.

Definitely a full town, parking spaces filled,
tourists out and about, a cyclist bumping
the oldman off the sidewalk, following a couple
down Fleming, he with black shoes and a tropical
shirt, she with an ahoo covering a naked top,
white four inch knee boots that stepped in dogshit,
rather flabby back, crossing at the light where a
busload of black tourists from Miami parked
at the Chinese restaurant for whatever....
she flashed and their cameras as well,
airbrushed obiesity.

The crazyone arrived demanding information
on the rainy night intruder threatening the life,
what little left, of the oldman, actually thirsty,
downing a cold pint.."I haven't drank in two days,"
a milestone for the cracker, who left to pretend.

The oldman left him to his tools and noise,
two pints and a buzz, toys for the boys,
drunken home improvements,
naked with his tool belt,
raw on the Rock.

The opera in the east rooms,
smashing and crashing,
pounding and thumping.

The west side monster without power,
an electrical engineer from Georgia Tech,
a house with troubled wiring,
a fellow with a strange agenda.

"What's happening, oldman, still hiding out,"
shouts the visitor from the far side with treats
from Humbolt County and the Mad River.

"That lunatic is still destroying the house,
the porch is great, but Eddie did it," thirty years
of insults and truth, the travelling man
without a bed, a mailbox, a roof or kitchen,
a junkyard dream on Big Pine Key.

"See you later, gotta see naked tit, don't like
Airheads' vibes, all negative energy,
the Mason vaccum cleaner," leaving another treat
on the clean glass table.

1500 the opera on the east side,
the other on the west, thirsting for change.

Blue skies and a breeze,
the pretender in paradise.

The oldman to the balcony.

Away from the madness.