He’s a Rebel
He loved that down home
and get dirty 60’s songs
before the tunes turned
ugly on drugs, pipe dreams
and protest music, loved
the simple lyrics of: “Walking
in the Sand”, ”Little Town Flirt”,
Runaway”, “Half Heaven, Half
Heartache”, “Town Without Pity”,
loved the idea of a blonde biker
babe dressed in black leather,
long straight blonde hair blown loose
in the wind and a voice like a fallen
angle, loved her red lipstick that left
oval stains on white filter tip cigarettes,
shirt collars he wore up, those bright
mornings after languid nights in bed
as the new boy in town, fully dressed
and ready to hop on his chopped hog
to ride off, to follow the sun, forty years
too late and five dollars short of a sawbuck.
All of maybe 15 years old
and she’s already a man
eater, she whispers in
the ear of the young man
who has claimed a seat
next to her on the bus,
his face changing colors
as he listens to her suggestions.
Five miles before his stop
he pulls the cord, disembarks
into a pouring rain, no shelters
nearby, no lights, nothing,
while she returns to her reading,
a forty year old copy of
Black Spring, smiling as she reads,
well along in her home schooling
reading assignments of
The Complete Works of Henry Miller.
The war never ends on all
those twelve hour shifts in
his mind, humping the night
as if it were a twenty dollar whore
downloaded for action the duration
of a three day pass.
Even stateside, mustered out,
nothing changed him, nothing altered
his focus, selling cash crops from
backdoor saloons, boatloads of pure
and suitcases of dinero, calling all
the shots for every deal that came
down, a posse of dead beat,
human moray eels on steroids
for protection, everywhere he went.
Downtime, clubbing with his crew,
more of a black ops mission than
a special occasion. A date, grabbing
some babe and having her
strong armed into nearest empty
room for an up close and private
encounter, just her and the boys.
A wad of twenties and some blow
left behind, along with the wreckage
of her life. No one dared complain.
Not then. Not ever.
No one crossed him on a business
deal either since the rumor started
was, he might pop someone, anyone,
just for drill. What he might do to an
actual offending party, unthinkable.
Out of town connections said he was
malo malo loco, was one tour of duty
and a deal from being lord of the
underground, a few heart beats
from immortal. No reason to change
the perceived, he thought. Not in this
life. Nor in any other.