Memorial Day Blues.

0639/2007 79/88 Hazy Hot S/8 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

The thirtythird of this holiday weekend
in paradise, these thrice blessed keys,
islands of the eternal sun...

"That's Honorary Conch Shit,"
laughs the madone celebrating
with a pint for lunch at 92 degrees
and 24.6/81.6 generalities.

The oldman was crippled again,
falling on the new plywood floors.

His right side too, the typing arm...

"Apple Blossom Weekend,"
smiled his mother enjoying the ride
around The Falls into Buffalo
to visit Aunt Effie and Uncle Frank,
a bookiebank and mobman.

"We Like Ike."

Chocolate bars and baseball cards,
angora sweaters and ducktails,
Bill Haley and The Comets...

"What the fuck happened then, oldman,
the frigging neutron bomb,
rock and fucking roll, or ........
the birth control pill, Harfuckinghar,"
cackles the madone,
as roosters crow
and hens fly to the scaffolding
eating dove and catfood
while the indianwoman plays the flute,
smoking Poker cigarettes,
snacking Ben and Jerry's,
feeding steak to the dog.

"Camelot and a parking lot
for plazas and suburban sod,
commuters and looters,
bomb shelters made into
backyard pools,
safe from 'the commie threat'
until 'that ride in Dallas'."

"She was jaded and callous,
had left her oldman,
dead in Dallas...
and married 'The Greek',
Jackie the Wacky and Wall Street,
just the beginning,"
mused the oldman in the heat
of the afternoon,
the dog eating chicken bones,
the stupid oldcunt up the street
leaving her pets alone
to bark and bark.

"But, I never heard my dogs bark
when I was out."

Americanfuckingassholes playing roles.