Slightly more than a few decades ago
when Black Flag and Roach Motel reigned
when Rosebud Margarine fed the peasant masses
and we, the finest boys from far-flung nations,
made our way to the party capital of America.
I was studying to be the next Indiana Jones
My nose firmly planted in the pages of The Book of The Dead
While my colleagues focused on more fickle endeavors
Like rent, roach racetracks, and can ya read Fortran?
We suffered through the scorching summer months
By sharing a patch of galvanized metal roof
And by cruising for chiquitas strolling down Court Street
While the Mental Ward rejects warned of invading Martians.
I visited the German bookstore one too many times
Hoping to meet Maria and drink in her beautiful gaze
The one who gave me roses after my stand-up in class
The one with the drill-sergeant running the frickin maze.
In between the hormones and Dogs and Sauce...
Inviting Hare Krishnas to meat and potatoes dinners,
Teaching the Oasis regulars how to write in simple English,
Walking home at dawn after ten hours feeding drunks...
Exorcising mechanical demons from the basement washer,
Opening roach motels round every corner of fridge and stove,
Escorting the frightened, cussing Gypsy girl home to safety
Walking over the sewage drain where they hid the dead Libyan.
We survived the cheap seats where kids fell through bleachers
And our football players, cheerleaders, and fans drank till drunk.
The Monsoon on the ice stinking of raw garlic and fragrant gas
Tried to knock down the professionals and make the Broomball playoffs.
We survived a college life that would scare the new kids away
With their woke shite, unicorns, and government footing the bill
In a time when you dodged tossed bottles in the Halloween air
And came home to share a dorm with a kid who had never used soap.
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