Doom City

“Doom City”

The warmth has brought out everyone
but now the night chill has sent them to the bar
Everyone is in here tonight
I’m at a table by the door
Talking with a regular that claims he knows James Taylor
He has a clay sculpture
Whose mutant head comes off
And has been toyed with by everyone
There had been talk earlier
About a collection for Darrell
Who was arrested here last night
For beating a skin-head
Darrell has a heart of gold
But a fist of stone
And that’s what gets him in trouble.
I’ve been quiet all night
Most of the people here are acquaintances
I tell them “hello” when I see them and shake their hands
I’ve had occasional conversations with most of them
But I only have two or three friends here tonight
I push my pint glass back and forth on the table between my hands
My liquor has was gone a while ago
And all the ice has melted
it splashes with each push and occasionally spills over
On my hands
A pretty girl sits down at our table next to me
She looks drunk
And probably stoned
I ask her if she is a local or a student
The locals hate the students
And the students hate the locals
I never figured out why
And I don’t believe in it
But I don’t feel like being scorned by this girl
Just because of my tragic birthplace
She tells me she is a local
But goes to school here as well
I invite her into the conversation I’m having with Kyle Fire
About Burroughs and other semi-obscure literature
But she hasn’t read any of it
Or even seen the movies
I make small-talk on the side with her
She seems nice
Not one of the sleazy girls you would meet in the bars down the street
She keeps telling people her name
But each time I miss it
Over the din of the bar
The life of the city
No one can find a happy medium on the juke box
It goes from Dylan to the Beatles to Guns N Roses to Shania Twain
Everyone says this bar has the best juke in town
It still doesn’t match the charm
Of the monotone lady
That sang and played keyboards at the Royale
But the Royale is gone
Up in smoke last year
Everyone wants to replace it with this bar
But it’s just not the same
Life really revolves around the bars here
That’s why it’s called the Parlor City
I read a quote last week
Someone passing through said
This is
The kind of city where writers are supposed to grow up
I guess that’s good for me
But why all the other lost souls
That flirt about
And linger here
I know so many people that will never leave this place
It makes me sad
Because I know they can never achieve here
But then again
It’s so hard for me to leave as well
It’s so easy to be a big fish
In this little pond
I’ve been trying to escape
For over a year now
But it’s too hard
I’m too scared to go
I know it so well here
As cliche as the back of my hand
And it knows me
It doesn’t want me to go
But comfort is the murderer of creativity
So I know I can’t stay
Or I will always be here
The big crisis lately
Is the graffiti being sprayed on the walls around town
The mayor has vowed to stop it
I’m sure the idea of positive encouragement
Trying to get these “criminals” to help beautify the city
Has never crossed his mind
It’s hard to get flowers to bloom in cement
It doesn’t mean I won’t try and damage it
As much as possible
Before I leave
Because, if I can’t beat ‘em
I’ll just have to hit harder
I won’t allow myself to believe
That all hope is lost here
No matter what the city keeps telling me


“Cavalry Cemetery Six and Twenty-Two”

Two walkers pass me as I sit on the rock
Their brows are sweaty and their plump bellies protrude
The woman looks and is puzzled, but the man is unconcerned
There are birds singing on all sides of me
One in the boughs of a pine tree on my right
It mixes with the far-off obscenity of a car alarm
And the destructive progress of a constructive vehicle in reverse
The air is cool and the breeze is gentle
And I wish I could sit here forever
A statue among the grave-stones
Silently watching time pass
People, cars, life
I can see the highway in the distance
Multicolored glossy ants racing across it tracks
They are all people I will never know
Never meet, never hear their stories
Would I want to?
My mother used to sled down this hill
In a bygone time when this land was wild
Before the grocery stores, before the highway, before the motels, before the mall
It seems perverse to me,
To think that someone would come along and raze the land like this
But I buy into it every day, so I guess I have no right to complain
Still, I look at the expanse of the field
Soon to be leveled out for more bodies or more buildings
(skeletons either way)
And I wish I could see it when the whole hill was like this
In a bygone day when the land was wild


Scene Politics

“I hope you like your little rave scene, ‘cuz it’s dead,”
She said to me, roughly grabbing
The stomach of my shirt
‘Cuz she couldn’t grab any higher
I looked at her with half a smile
I like punk rock, heavy metal, country, folk, lots of stuff
But not techno
And I was only here tonight
‘Cuz my friend set it up, and let me in for free
And gave me a badge for half-off drinks
I only stayed this late
After they stopped serving
‘Cuz I was talking to a couple girls
Who seemed interested
And were long gone now
And I just wanted to go home