PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Drunken saunters through the Franklin Parkway used to be a must when I was doing poetry readings at the North Star Bar.  I always needed to walk back to Suburban Station after the readings.  And, of course, I was usually half lit when I made these walks. 

I would be running for my life trying to get across the parkway without getting run over.  Cars whizzing along with no regard for pedestrian lifeforms.  Now I always used to think it was a well policed area but given that I’ve never been arrested or at least harassed that must be a mistaken assumption on my part.

It’s amazing that I’ve never been arrested and locked up for my own safety—let alone the safety of others.  One of the strangest ones was the time I was my drunken trot with another drunk fool poet named Danny.  Apparently, we both rode the same train to get home. 

It was an especially drunken  night and wild with alcohol among other things.  We set out to take on the Parkway.  Death don’t have any mercy but I still have a train to catch.  Death was not something that I feared this night.

We made our walk while talking wildly about poetry and racing for our lives.  There cars show no mercy as they go racing by. 

Danny is talking loudly and wakes up a sleeping hobo.

“Now why’d you go and do that?” I demand

“Because I wanted to” he answered, “I do what I want.”

I went on a spiel about how uncool that was.  It really ain’t cool to kick a man (or woman) that’s already down.  “See the Four Seasons Hotel over there?” I ask him,  “Those are the people, the privileged people that we should be shocking and tormenting.”

The discussion evolves to a chat on what to do about the Four Seasons Hotel.  I remark that it would be very amusing if two hippie poets went streaking thru the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel.  We were both drunk enough to think that this was a good idea but not drunk enough to actually do it.

We stopped walking right outside the hotel restaurant both waiting to see if the other had the balls to do it.  Looking in at the patrons, I thought that it would be rather comical if we were to moon the diners.  It might make their food a little less palatable.

I made the suggestion, “Hey we could always moon them.  They’re there eating their meal in comfort and luxury and they would have to deal with us sticking our bare asses in their faces.”

But we ended up not mooning the patrons of the restaurant and not streaking thru the lobby of the Four Seasons Hotel.  It’s one of those situations when you fall back on the time worn cop out that it’s the thought that counts.

9-10-95