Pipster’s Reveree (a Birthday Poem on the Lost Youths)

PIPSTER'S REVEREE

Rose-hued pachyderms

Promenade the zoetrope stage

Pursed lips p-p-proud to Pronounce 

the coming of, the coming of,

“The Pirate Band”

they’re all the rage

and slasher parodies

punish the salty dogs that

fail to play dead

techno prisoners

illllllliterate

black and white and

sliced like bread

The Roaring Twenties:

WAS model-T.  IS tesla

WAS foxtrot.  IS dubstep

was WW1 aftermath.

is Covid-XIX no-end-in-sight.

WAS your great-grandparents.

IS my nephews’, and my friends’ kids’, youth.

It’s time again to take that stale old character

And “update him for the Nineties”

He’s one-half surfer dude, one-half skate-punk, 

one-half biker rebel, one-half street-thug…

100% attitude.

And he has about three lines of dialogue in the whole thing,

So he is effectively braindead.

But let’s pump the bellows anyways and see what happens

FWOOOOOOSH…………..

MY YOUTH:

was it playing around in the desolate river ravine

hunting for animals and artifacts

like frogs and beetles and rusted metal

OR WAS IT:

the most functional recreational institutions

like AYSO soccer, Kenpo Karate and school camping trips

OR WAS IT:

the questionable free-time mindless obsessions

like TV sitcoms, 8bit Nintendo and dungeon map chatrooms

OR PERHAPS:

the academics that, ironically, was really of secondary import

in my idealistic alphabetically un-hierarchic elementary school

OR MAYBE:

The self-righteous independent creative work that persists to this day,

Like this here piece of written art?

ORRR was it the friends I had that originally motivated me toward doing

that kind of stuff.

Yeah.  It was definitely the friends I had.  And the friends I lost.  (But always remembered??)

That defined my youth.  And my adolescence.  And my college years.

And my post college rebellion.  And my post rebellion delirium and deterioration.

And my post delirium salvation and rehabilitation.  And then my honest work phase.

And this: my post work phase digression.

And now, many of us are in a forced digression.

And I am wondering if there is an endless creative outlet that would be my salvation.

Or was it social context all along, that made every iota of creativity at all possible, even when excessive and misguided.

AND YET

here we are.  Talking to each other’s walls.  Or at least spying on them.

IT’S MY BIRTHDAY

tomorrow!!!  Saturday, July 18th.  I will be 37 years old, and that number means nothing particularly special to me.

But you could make it special!

FRIENDS

If you read this far, and you believe in the truth fairy, say ONE WORD about how we met, how you know me, or better yet, just one word that feels good or means something to you.

Also I hope you don’t think it’s selfish that I’m not asking you to donate to a Charity.  You could always do that, if that’s something you feel like you want to do.