It’s so strange to have to leap out of bed at 2:41 AM on a work night to have to write a poem about a girl whose name I don’t even know.  It’s good to have the muse raging but sleep would also be nice.


(I don’t wanna  piss off the feminists so I’ll refrain from calling my muse a bitch although if I was gay it would be perfectly acceptable) Hypocrisy—Political correctness is thy name.  But I am thinking of a girl from Reading who I met in Bethlehem who was totally into the whole Goth sceneand a friend felt it necessary to berate her a vacuous blonde—albeit a cute one.


I felt inclined to defend her honor even if I didn’t really know her personally. What do you expect? A bored 20 year old girl

from Reading, PA may not know better but at least must be smart enough to rebel against conformity.


The trap is—and following the Dead for 15 yearsI saw a lot of this—is people ultimately sacrifice their individuality anyway when they get too involved with a particular scene as they rebuke the norm only to become a drone in another army.


It was raining steadily, which I guess, Goth chicks dig,but it was rather amusing and even entertaining.  She also scored bonus points because we were chatting in an open field while Ray Charles performed a free show.  I’m not ready to run out and buy Bauhaus tickets but it’s cool when anyone transcends top forty radio.  As the French say: Viva la difference!


My horndog status aside I have to give her credit for being Goth in a town like Reading and I must insist it has nothing to do with her being cute, blonde and twenty.



Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was originally written as a poem and included in a chapbook titled As If I Had an Audience.  I reshaped it as a short prose piece because I found the poem a bit awkward.

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