Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub
Dunno what the hell happened
to ol' Duke
who was the swarthiest of our little band
of outsiders
with hair blacker than used motor oil
in that whitebread town
who would sit behind the girls
at the movie show
and chant just beneath his breath: piece o' butt...
piece o' butt...
Who one night when we sneaked onto the
grounds of the high school
with Molotov cocktails in hand
lit one and flung it
and the flaming projectile
bounced off the side of the brick building
and struck him in the back
and started his brand new jacket afire
and the rest of us cackled until we could
no longer catch our breath...
Who one night as I chauffeured us
aimlessly around town
in my cherry-red Ford that everybody recognized
we passed the movie theater
where we saw this big ugly brute
named "Moose" loitering outside--
with his finger excavating his nasal cavity
and leaned out his window and shouted
"Pick you nose and wipe it on you suit!"
and I sensed immediately that
somehow I would be the one to pay for that...
And so it was one night we were stopped
along a country road
chugging some beers
and who of all people came along
but Moose and company
and he grabbed me and growled:
YOU'RE the one who yelled
PICK YOU NOSE AND WIPE IT ON YOU SUIT
and I marveled at his exact recall of Duke's phraseology
all the while knowing it would do no good
to even try to explain
and getting shoved into that ditch
didn't really hurt, man,
no...
not like conjuring up
those beautiful images does now.
