Long Downtown Poems
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. Each year as Christmas rolls around, as I buckle under the pressure and stress of
shopping for gifts for people that already have everything, I find myself remembering that
Christmas of 1954.
Dad had joined the army that year and we moved from the East Coast of Canada
to Ontario, leaving behind our extended family and the only home I had ever know in a small
fishing village along the Bay of Fundy.
Now we stood gazing in horror at the rows of ugly buildings sitting on barren land
in the middle of nowhere. This was the housing provided by the army and was a major part
of the wage agreement.
My mother was inconsolable until dad rented us a small apartment over a Chinese
restaurant in downtown Barrie. There was no remuneration by the army for forfeiting the
housing, so it left dad with a very small pay-check
Pay day was once a month and we usually ran out of money in the last week, so,
off we would go to the pawn shop with dad’s prized possession; his short-wave radio, won for
superior marksmanship.
Being kids, we finally adjusted to our new world as we watched the Santa Claus
Parade march below our living room window amid the honking horns, blaring bands and
throngs of people lined along the streets as far as the eye could see as we laughed with glee.
~~~
We had seen them on our way to school in the window of the bicycle shop;
gleaming with chrome spokes and handlebars and hand grips adorned with multi-colored
streamers. There I would stand until my feet grew numb from the cold, daydreaming of
riding back to the East Coast. I could actually see the sun glistening on the waves as I raced
along the ocean on the way to grandma’s house. More than once I had to stay after school
for being late.
My brother thought maybe if we were really good, Santa would bring those
bicycles to us. I being the older and therefore the wiser, knew the state of the real Santa’s
affairs and promptly convinced my brother I had heard from a reliable source Santa had a
shortage of bicycles this year and we would just have to earn the money and buy them
ourselves.
Continued in part 2....
These old boots, they've sure been around. They don't know where their goin' but they sure know where they've been. Drinkin' Corona and dancing with a Mexican Senorita in Jaurez, the smell of perfume and Tequila fill the air. Gracias for the good time, but these old boots got to go. Hitched a ride on an old cattle truck to El Paso, my Stetson blocking the sun and hiding my bloodshot eyes. Throwing cow chips at an old wooden fence, I count the $100 dollars I just made at the slaughter house, the foreman said "you work like that you'll make good money boy". "Thanks, but these old boots got to go" I said. "That $100 dollars sure went fast", I told the deputy as he unlocked the gate at the jail sitting in downtown Amarillo smoking a Marlboro with my thumb in the air, thinkin', these old boots got to go. Tired and weary, I got a motel room for $50 bucks I made on a sway-back horse in a low-class rodeo outside Albuquerque but don't remember much about last night other than the empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the table. Dippin' in a can of Kodiak, I'm thinking to myself, these old boots got to go. That Budweiser sure did taste good after bailing hay in the snow in Durango, as night fell pickin' my guitar as the cowgirls on the dancefloor cut a rug. I thought to myself, the good times don't last forever so these old boots got to go. I've been a lot of things' and nonthin at the same time, money in my pocket and a liquor bottle, I roll on down the road like a tumbleweed blowing in the wind. Back in big sky country, the prairie grass sways in the breeze casting shadows on my tombstone. Hard work and hard drinkin' caught up to me, but I had fun y'all, these old boots got to go...........
I was sittin' on the porch today reminiscin' about this and that,
And my hometown came to mind where I grew up as a feckless brat!
Life was lived at a slower pace it seemed, back in that place and time.
We didn't smoke grass but stealin' watermelons was a common crime!
The senior prom was held in the school gym and didn't cost a bunch.
There was no McDonalds so you had to eat at Marty's Diner for lunch.
Imagine! You danced cheek-to-cheek to a romantic Miller refrain,
And there were no computers - you actually had to use your brain!
The girls in your class were OK, but you preferred gals in that other town!
You raced about town in your Ford and with the cops became quite renown!
Guys kept shotguns in their jalopies to go rabbit huntin' right after school.
You took pleasure in datin' your pal's ex-girl friend, thinkin' you were so cool!
You could usually find who you were lookin' for at the dairy bar or pool hall.
You pushed a reel-type lawn mower when you'd rather be playin' basketball.
Everyone gathered downtown on Saturday nights for a movie or just to hang out.
Boys started drivin' their dad's John Deere tractor at age ten or thereabout.
If you walked somewhere, people would stop to see if you needed a ride.
Should you be the last kid chosen for a game, that really hurt your pride!
Boys wore 'butch' haircuts and girls sported ponytails and saddle shoes.
When I recall those carefree days I get a touch of the melancholy blues!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
1966
I was just 10 years old when Dad said I
was ready for the Men Only Swim Hour
at the YMCA Downtown where we were
members. He had rehearsed proper
etiquette with me many times and I was
ready, 'Behave as if you are the only
one in the pool, greet other men, and
go about your business, swim laps'
I always most enjoyed the first few
moments upon entering the pool
area, the heavy, humid air brushing
my freedom, a powerful, strangely
omnipotent sensation, like this feeling
was the natural order for a secret
society of male rulers, inviting me
into their kingdom to experience truth,
if only for an hour.
We were all equally noble, wizened
and wrinkled sages, lithe and muscled
herculeans (my Dad among these)
and me...all here just to freely wet the
whistle, for an hour.
let me feel the glow of your skin.
the glow of your skin - let me feel it.
glowing skin.
i now feel.
it has me.
the feeling of glowing skin on my hands.
you've had me.
hold me while i hold my hands.
an embrace of transcendence, an embrace of color, unblemished.
untainted.
free of society and sanction.
the glow of your skin is pure.
it's true.
let my heart racing justify
me falling in love.
open up your lips.
i know you.
you recited my poetry at the local bar downtown.
let that justify
you falling into me, colliding into my broken, dark world.
be my solider, be my soulmate.
i am in love with you.
let me feel.
the glow of your skin.
the glow of your skin - let me feel it.
now feel - you.
and your glowing skin.
it has me.
the feeling of glowing skin on my hands.
you've had me.
lights.
reflections.
mirrors.
..all misty in the river,
hidden by the night fog..
They’re closing the downtown
Legion soon, taxes are too high,
what with gentrification and
only a few of the regulars are vets.
The younger associates, whose
parents or grandparents served,
can drive to the new place out
on the Watson Parkway.
But most of the old ones don’t drive
anymore and it’s a long bus ride.
Not that it matters, the associates
are just there for cheap beer and
don’t want to hear rambling stories
from senile old vets and anyway.
it’s now one hundred years since
the “war to end all wars” ended.
Christ, even Wicki notes that
the phrase “originally idealistic
is now used sardonically.”
Yet I’m glad to give my toonie
to the shivering cadets
outside the Farmer’s market
and double pin the plastic poppy
to my coat, hoping that it will
last till November Eleven.
To show for a brief while that
I remember.
Hey everybody it's
Saturday Night
And I am free and single
And what that means is
It's time to gather the boy's
And head downtown
In search of a crowded dancefloor
Full of fever hottie's throwing
sexy shape's my way
Who I can lay my game on
I've had a shower got my best
clothes and fragrance on
Now all i need to do is down a
gallon of beer and quadrilateral shot's
in double quick time
So I am then enabled to ever so subtly
approach whichever unlucky gal I am
about to try my luck out with
And this is what ill say to her
Hey there girl
I see I caught your eye
Do you come here often
I don't do this very often
But because it's you ill make an exception
But if you'll lend me $10
I'll buy us both a round of drink's
And we'll see how thing's go
I'm not promising you anything
and don't take anything for granted
Apart from the fact either i am quite
obviously very cheap a funny guy
Or rather than or as I like to profess
I am a feminist who treat's women with
the total respect they are due
And if that don't work as in all probability
and likely hood it won't
I'll just continue carry on drinking until
come the end of the night
I'll do what I always do and try my
best to latch on to the female version
of me who is even drunker
But who still is able enough to
hail us a cab to get us home
So I can pass out on her once we are
there hopefully without me throwing
up or peeing myself in the process
Because the next time I am out chance's
are I may just come across her and our
paths may cross again
And that could possibly blow my chances
of bagging one of her friends
Because girls tend to tell their friends
everything nothing stays in Vegas
Right down to the size of your plumber's
crack and ballcock
Short and sweet, Brandon
I see you have your 'game on'
'Don't demonize the rioters,' you say
Well, why should we bother
When YOU, sir, are the DEVIL ~ all of Chicago pays
__________________________________________
'Teen Takeover' of Downtown Chicago Saturday night
(April 16), resulted in two people shot, dozens injured,
and widespread property damage. Visitors to Chicago
had to be herded back to their hotels. And what does
Brandon Johnson, the 'Mayor-Elect,' choose to say?
'Do not demonize those who took part in the violence
and mayhem...' How about a blanket condemnation of
these criminal youth, chump?! Don't you realize they're
testing you, and you just flunked the first test?!
I have this urge to sway
on street corners in a derelict way,
disheveled - a little drunk,
with an impulse to praise Mary,
not the virgin, but her
less immaculate namesake.
Perhaps the sound of my prayers
will de-ice parked cars, straighten
shopping cartwheels, save a kid's
balloon from escaping?
Blessed is the fruit of thy womb.
The fruit of your womb goes downtown.
A truck narrowly misses a cat.
A door is held open for an expectant mother.
A smile from a mean looking youth.
It begins to rain. Snow turns to slush.
The winter evening slaps our cheeks.
Pray for us sinners.
A handcuffed Magdalene
steps into a cruiser.
The cops are smiling; she is smiling
they have done this before.
An old man in a thin jacket
huddles cold bones
against a wolfish wind.
He will survive its killing teeth.
Look!
It is Happy Hour.
the Magdalene will be serving,
tending to both good company
and bad.
“Now and at the hour of our death".
"Let us share one last
imperfect breath.”
Declares a racoon
from its holy dumpster.
Was going to look for my missing watch
But just couldn't find the time
Simply no telling where my mind is going
This very strange mind of mine
Here's an ultimate groaner, my friends
I used to be a good tap dancer
But then one sad day I fell in the sink
Asked how I was, couldn't answer
D'ya hear about the crime that happened
In a downtown parking garage?
It was so damn wrong on so many levels
Heard it was a case of sabotage
With the scary approach of the apocalypse
Armageddon out of here
That's silly, whoever's coming up with these
Is more than just a little bit weird
A man had a difficult time bouncing back
From a serious bungee cord accident
Been to the dentist and I know the drill
Tells me toothaches you can prevent
Reading a great book about anti-gravity
Find it almost impossible to put down
It's floating around the living room all day
One time it bonked me on my crown
Dead batteries are sometimes given away
Free of charge I've heard
Think someones's trying to brighten my day
Now that is downright absurd