neck straining
to keep head high
Passed out
Came to
bathed in fear
porch lights casting shadow
of dangling severed ear
tried to puke
couldn't puke
drunk but couldn't puke
Passed out
Came to
with a man in my face asking why
"why the f--- are you asking me questions?"
"there are ladies present" came his reply
feet all around me
stop the questions please!
closed my eyes like a dead man
to hammer home the plea
Passed out
Came to
pried off the road by careless hands
face up on a stretcher
under bright bleary stars streaked by pain
while the man with the questions
shouted to the crowd crude clear commands
Passed out
Came to
"where's Ken?"
"Ken's dead"
"what happened then?"
Passed out
Came to
laid out, rolled over by unseen faces
and voices at work probing my body
praising my attitude
while putting me through my paces
with Ken's sister sobbing in my face
overwhelming me with questions
as to what had taken place
and her parents leaving from behind
huddled, bent, sobbing
oblivious to the time
***
Ken's clothes were returned to his parents and saved
neatly folded and tucked away
along with all his other things
in a bedroom where they stayed.
Mine became relics kept for a while
in a corner of the garage;
shredded shirt and bloody jeans
kept for brooding then burned up in a pile
For shooting Ken trying to escape
the killer got manslaughter,
and Hell for dragging me through a twilight world
where my life was very much at stake.
Our attackers were the stuff of boyhood fears,
spinning out of the Dust Bowl
with rail thin bodies pumped up by hate
who saw in us a means of burning out on a legacy of tears.



























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the beginning of my poem was cut off (March 1969)

Everywhere in the past March 1969
Main Street was a runway for teenage fantasies
of soaring and scoring
brought to earth by the crudeness of the task
We were relieved of the flight
by fresh recruits
and headed home
with cozy beds in our weary sights
when the light turned green
as Ken eyed some girls
and the taunt of What Might Have Been
made the night turn mean.
.
In a gadda da veeeeda, honey,
don't you know that I luuuuve yuuu...
…There must be some kind of way out of here,
said the …
Didn't remember the lyrics.
Didn't want to.
Didn't want to be there.
Ken drove beyond the main drag
to the other side of the railroad tracks
following the girl's dust down a dimly lit road
leaving behind the lives we could have had,
and among small clap board houses
hung with bare light bulbs
baring secrets
buried in vacant lots that only the shovel arouses.
I grew up in a place like this.
Mom preached about the vacant lots,
so I would stand staring into them
imagining the bones, fires, and adventures of my very on abyss.
But we were drunk now
and I wanted to be in church singing The Old Rugged Cross
and hearing Brother Sweeney praying,
soothing my guilty heart and teenage scowl.
The girls stopped at a house back from the road.
I became jazzed by the haloed porch light,
the party going on,
and how my scheming might seem effortless and bold.
Suddenly Ken was kissing a girl through the window.
I got out of the car and waited my turn,
channeling James Bond
and reciting lines I figured I should know.
Headlights appeared to our rear.
Three shadows approached that I ignored,
turning my attention to the girl
while stewed on the froth of a stale warm beer.
Suddenly a short one appeared to my left ready to ignite,
a jumpy back-lit silhouette
that I asked, "What do you want?"
followed by a half-closed fist that filled all my sight
Passed out
Came to.
tires spinning in gravel
a cold nudge of metal
thoughts unraveling
porch lights passing by
neck straining
to keep head high
Passed out
Came to
bathed in fear
porch lights casting shadow
of dangling severed ear
tried to puke
couldn't puke
drunk but couldn't puke
Passed out
Came to
with a man in my face asking why
"why the f--- are you asking me questions?"
"there are ladies present" came his reply
feet all around me
stop the questions please!
closed my eyes like a dead man
to hammer home the plea
Passed out
Came to
pried off the road by careless hands
face up on a stretcher
under bright bleary stars streaked by pain
while the man with the questions
shouted to the crowd crude clear commands
Passed out
Came to
"where's Ken?"
"Ken's dead"
"what happened then?"
Passed out
Came to
laid out, rolled over by unseen faces
and voices at work probing my body
praising my attitude
while putting me through my paces
with Ken's sister sobbing in my face
overwhelming me with questions
as to what had taken place
and her parents leaving from behind
huddled, bent, sobbing
oblivious to the time
***
Ken's clothes were returned to his parents and saved
neatly folded and tucked away
along with all his other things
in a bedroom where they stayed.
Mine became relics kept for a while
in a corner of the garage;
shredded shirt and bloody jeans
kept for brooding then burned up in a pile
For shooting Ken trying to escape
the killer got manslaughter,
and Hell for dragging me through a twilight world
where my life was very much at stake.
Our attackers were the stuff of boyhood fears,
spinning out of the Dust Bowl
with rail thin bodies pumped up by hate
who saw in us a means of burning out on a legacy of tears.



























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.





.

.

I really really enjoyed your poem, I don't understand what happened, but it's the most enjoyable poem I've ever read.