With ghost white vision
I watch David ride
ahead of the storm,
unknown.
Teenagers hang
at the strip mall,
the bold one calls
“Are you boy or girl?”
(though spandex leaves no doubt),
so he submerges in this
Bowie androgynous daydream
a layered coping lie.
A green sea sky appears
so he hunches low,
firms his ram horn grip
and leg gangly gallop
to chain and gear.
But the sky is sudden,
a kettle drum rumble
and burst,
of spinning wheels and dirty rain.

Sanctuary, a dry white overhang
of web moths caught in corners
at the Baptist Church.
An hour sprawled
on a cool concrete square,
and propped to a post.
Hey, hey daddy long limbs
all pipe-cleaner poked in Styrofoam
with sweaty gray punk prongs
of insect antennae.
Eyes closed,
hands tented
beneath the chin,
a peace in the pattering rain.
True,
a bit alien
but perhaps a certain symmetry
in strange lines and angles.

With falling night
the rain never falters.
A perspiration stickman
left on cool pavement.
Resigned to six hard miles,
spinning dirty rain
cloud covered and off-key,
affected Belafonte:

Working a banana boat all day long
Day light come and me wanna go home…*







*lifted from The Banana Boat Song-Words and Music by Harry Belafonte, Lord Burgess, and Bill Attawag

09/02/2005

Author's Note: I'm Easy Rider, 2nd class.

Posted on 09/02/2005
Copyright © 2026 David Hill