Boom, boom, boom

Fell asleep last night with my iPod on and my earbuds in. Three thousand songs from the past thirty years crowded my brain and trampled all the grass on the hippocampus. When I woke up I began to speak in tongues:

I’m just a singer in a rock and roll band. I’m just a poor boy a long way from an octopus’s garden. I’m still punchin’ cattle in the pay of Diamond Joe. I wrote a poem on a dog biscuit and your dog refused to look at it. All I wanna do when I wake up in the morning is amend my carnivorous habits.

I can’t get no satisfaction.

Its been coming on for some time. I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. In 1984 I was hospitalized for approaching a werewolf with a Chinese menu. He just grinned and shook my hand. All he said: “Today’s the day I’m gonna grab my trombone and blow.” We had a few drinks but all we kept talking about was heading for Boston to find my bloody leg.

I asked my family doctor just what I had and he said “Don’t bring me down, Grroosss. You belong on a boat out at sea.”

Things got bad and things got worse. Doctor, my eyes have seen my fair share of brown bottles and aluminum cans. I’m not a perfect person. There’s many things I wish I didn’t do. Whatever happened that Tuesday, I was only joking when I said I’d like to smash every tooth in your head. They were all yellow.

It’s a mixed up muddled up, shook up world. When your rooster crows at the break of dawn, rooster hits the washboard, and I keep hittin’ repeat-peat-peat-peat. Eight days a week are not enough to show I’m friends with the monster under my bed.

And no matter what you say, Folsom prison aint the kind place to shake your booty. Or get a blister on your little finger. I’m not the man they think I am at home. Oh no no no. I’m a robot, not a power ranger.

I drove my Chevy to the levy but the devil caught me there. Took my zucchini fetuccini, bulgar wheat, tambourines and elephants. I said give my stomach to Milwaukee. He said “Vamoose, Jose’s on his way.” I caught a horse, he looked like he could run. Hopin’ for Raleigh where they drink champagne and it tastes like plastic wire and elastic. But I went to Hollywood, got a tattoo and a cold draft beer.

In a noisy bar in Avalon, I met a man, Bojangles, and he said “Don’t touch me. Hey Ray. Hey sugar. Tell ‘em who we are.” While Lenin read a book on Marx, Jumpin’ Jack Flash said “I’ve seen your face before my friend. Come on tell me who are you? Some kid named Jason in a Honda station wagon? You play the guitar on the MTV? That aint workin’.”

Then I heard the guitar player say “Ooga, ooga, ooga chukka.” Oh what a feeling. Doctor, my eyes have seen the barracuda. I’m back in the high life again.

I be tossin’, enforcin’, my style is awesome. Everyday I’m shuffling. I went down to the Chelsea drugstore to get a leather jacket with chains that would jingle. Just to hear you say “I want your whiskey mouth all over my dinosaur Victrola.”

Down behind the stadium, I gave her my heart but she wanted my 50-amp fuse. I mean, m-m-m-my heart going boom, boom, boom. I know. It’s only rock and roll. But I like it.

©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2015, all rights reserved.

This entry was posted in Absurd and/or zany, The human comedy and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Boom, boom, boom

  1. Tom Urtz says:

    No guru, no mentor, no teacher . . . i have been healed


  2. PMcG says:

    May I hear an Amen, brother? Bmen will do if you’re out of A’s


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