I left all the cussin’ out, for brevity’s sake…and yours.


The guy with the stringy grey hair
Is holding forth about the good times:
We had us a quart of Jack Black
An’ cut us a plug out of a watermelon…
While two sleep and two hearken raptly,
But the blanket isn’t big enough for five,
So he sits on the grass, fuming
After awhile, his buddy bikes away
Still, he sits on the grass
Being the ultimate roughneck
An’ we had all this crank and weed…
His fans are open-mouthed at this
The black guy leaves, crosses the street
Hums his forty in a trashcan, stalks away
No one notices this, they’re listening
So then we drove down to the rivah…
The card-players at the fountain, mid-park
Sound like it will come to blows, soon
While an old drunk woman ambles by
An’ I will burn down Belle Isle
Before I tell the police: I’m cold, lock me up…
Three college kids bike by, nervously
Hey, Clarence, did you see that cat?
You know, with the crazy, lumpy head?
This from the far side of the Park
Another drunk rolls over on his cardboard
An’ after four years, When I got outta jail…
A clot of traffic erases all other sounds
Marcus wakes up, when hollered at,
Shuffles off to get a tiny bag of chronic
Haw, haw, haw, haw, haw, haw…
Again from the far side of the Park
Half an hour of slack-jawed silence later,
They get in their ratty pickup
And go back to Oregon Hill