by Walter R. Milton
A childhood dream fulfilled.
The end of higher education.
My soul’s color so chilled.
Gleaming with no justification.
Leave the ladies quite thrilled.
But today I ride alone.
Clouds fill this hot, humid day.
The threat of rain doesn’t exist
Just a reminder of what’s possible
But not necessarily bound to pass.
As I awake, I yawn, say:
‘What can or will become of this
Yet another day so starkly miserable?
Oh why do I even dare ask?’
I know what this day will bring.
Same as always: self-pity, abasement,
A malignancy in my blackened soul
Fears that I just cannot shake.
Always the same ole thing
More time, money uselessly spent
Memories fly by about the days of old
Waiting for something new to break.
Waiting: my most favorite pastime.
Passed time -- far too many regrets
O what to do! What to do!
Bored to tears quite needlessly.
Suddenly I hear the chime
What a time for retrospect!
What a time to forget, too!
I slowly turn the key.
Five liters start to breathe again.
I sigh: the sound of salvation
Two-hundred twenty-five ponies kick
And away we go. To where?
Environment controlled, hermetic within,
I turn her toward our destination
But our pace is not too quick
I wish to enjoy this day’s fare.
Girlies wave as I move on by
I know them some but I know them.
From when I used to walk.
No waves then, though, I recall.
My steed, the homies all green espy
How I got her, they’re wonderin’
I know about what they talk
But it’s not like that at all.
I worked to make her mine
Was reared to be the best I can
Not to hurt others, peddle bad stuff
Disgrace the name that I bear.
They speak with reason, no rhyme,
To belittle me, a lucky brother man
Of that shit, I’ve had quite enough
So I smile to match their sneers.
I have to stop for gas, though
And ease into my favorite station
Not really, it’s just close to home
And offers a high enough octane.
I give the cashier the dough,
Check her breasts with much veneration
She sits in the booth all alone
Behind a bulletproof windowpane.
So much like a caged animal
She inspires me on many levels
I appreciate again my wanderlust.
Not to mention lust and youth
Soon the tank is quite full
Pockets depleted for my day’s travels.
Collect my change, admire her bust
I laugh at my thoughts uncouth.
The pony and I ride once again
On roads uneven and pock-marked
Each jolt is a sledgehammer blow
But so’s life in the big city.
(c) Nov. 1991