This is where Whitman would be
If he were still pumping poetic hormones in 2004
Downtown skateboard park
Mid Alabama July
More teenage glistening pecs and abs here
Than every poetry reading in America combined.
The sparks of the body electric petered out long ago;
welcome to the body nuclear.
Half the night nothing rocked the air
Other than the screech
Of metal on wood
And bodies slithering over concrete
‘til the manager came out to skate
and all the twixt’s and teens demanded tunes;
“Sorry guys, all I have is classical”
which brought cheers from the boys
who knew what was coming:
Never mind the Bullocks,
here come the Sex Pistols
Which apparently is now classical music
If you’re fourteen
Maybe they’ll erect a statue of Whitman erect
His modern leaves of grass rolled in EZ wider
His ZZ Top beard hiding a lost scroll of bad boy poems
Copyright 2004 funkyvick
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1 comment:
I love Walt, too, Funk. Especially what he said to the dying soldier in D.C: I don't commiserate with you; I congratulate you. And of courses the messages from God that he found wherever he went-- and left them there because he knew there would be others. Wonder how many other Whitman fans in the blog community.
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