the black and white days, craving
the uniform: black turtleneck,
black beret, threadworn chinos,
torn sneakers, bongos, and shades
born too early in a Father Knows Best,
Leave It to Beaver sitcom; the Western Auto,
A&P store boondocks—America’s
Dreamsville… fine-tuning precocious
senses to the underground frequencies
the subliminal previews of coming attractions
the siren whispers about an Oz called The Village
the café-nicotine poetry, the princes of darkness,
Kerouac and Ginsberg, their Beat Generation
already setting sail in the Elsewhereville sunset
leaving me behind: a stranger on the shore
of my youth… off the road, off the bus,
praying those cool daddy-o mantras,
trying to kickstart my peachfuzz…
needing to be weird-with-a-beard
in the land of the beard nazis