Sunday with Dave: I Visit the Anarchists

“I Visit The Anarchists”

It kind of sucks when you’re extinct,
the problem was that I hadn’t had the chance to evolve,
some would take my occasional jobs from me
just to say I don’t fit in with this life,
I thought a little regression would pass for solace,
a sort of mental sucking of my thumb,
I hoped to chew on some Emma, the flavored Gustav,
a Ricardo with a hint of Jesus,
maybe some Erwin, a somewhat Voltairine
with my raging love of scruff,
even there, I fell in with a lovely group,
their faces more attractive than the penitentiary
they called seventh heaven,
they weren’t your usual punkers,
one even called me sir,
another mentioned that we must get organized,
or like the guy in the film said,
we direct not lead, a mandate to obey, yuh’ see,
verad? excuse my piss poor mastery of un otro lenguaje,
I guess I’m just like the ones they can’t quite genetically find,
I remember seeing a few wild faces in photos from Leavenworth,
the conversation went pleasantly about this trip to the cooperative,
about people getting’ picked up and never seen again,
the public can only handle them in parts,
I gotta thinkin’ although, didn’t this happen by the Green?
shootin’ people to tell them to get out,
just so somebody more respectable can shit in their own room,
these folks they visited on the trip tried to throw cockroaches and rats
on the govnor’s palace,
I think I offended a few with my laughing too hard, and I do shamefully admit
it was partly at them who were in the room,
I can’t blame them for not understanding my nicotine stained grin,
you see my heart jumps a bit from eating too much greasy meat,
let’s face it although, I’m more experienced at windbaggin’,
but it is sad to see
just how many sins I can commit at an anarchist gatherin’,
but for all that I learned, that same old feelin’ came back
like when I was with the Christians or out on a job interview,
then it dawned in my head, like that meteor they think wiped out the last age,
a voice that reminded me, sayin’
there maybe no gods and no masters,
no wan’in to be with some one,
property bein’ theft, and all that
but shit on you, Dave, for not remembering,
the most golden rule,
they don’ want to hear no jokin’ either,
there’s business to be done, they tell me I gotta see,
work to be finished, quotas to be had,
and like at my migratory work,
people to be processed,
I never could figure out
the line between ideology, blind faith, and conviction,
I think one of them now gone,
who witnessed so many others passed away,
once said,
if I can’t dance in your revolution, I don’t want no part of it,
and she got thrown out of two of them,
but I ain’ even pretty enough for a dance,
the last time I tried I had fun trippin’ on my feet,
but other’s chagrined that it was too offensive to see,
it can really pang to know you’re too old for a revolution,
having no name, no rep, no title, they tell me I hav’ to understand,
like the poet who wrote about being unfrozen in the future,
the new revolutionaries don’t like my smokin’ and drinkin’,
let alone my smart alecky remarks,
he may hav’ shot himself for his papa Joe,
all hail to the chief,
I don’ have the will for that, surrender is bullshit anyway,
I just remember meetin’ a fellow older than me,
his fly undone, pleadin’ with a whiskey breath,
when he cursed the street, I knew I met my soul mate,
even if we parted not soon after,
I wonder if these comrades
would have let ‘im in, just so he could speak his thoughts
and find an ally, in the tradition of old Will Godwin,
it’s easy to speak of the Communing of communes,
being the successors of so many reviled and reviling,
but I’m not sure if they know, or maybe it frightens them to realize,
what old Randy Bourne hinted at,
some people just come simply ‘cause
they’d like to share with a friend,
I came and stayed, they left after the busyness was done,
but I don’t know if they trust me enough to have me come back,
and I ain’t even sure if that is where I’m supposed to be at,
it’s just that agin’, yuh see, that tells me,
nice people have their thing,
I got too many welts from the past,
too many friends who’ve fallen away in their own beauty never seen,
my friends argue me hard elsewhere,
to where no name has found some community,
others would say we argue too much,
what they don’t see is we listen too well
and argue hard out of care
as friends must do to know and even have the hope
that they ain’t bullshitin’ one another just to keep what they ain’t alive,
letting who they really are die
before they can create another way.

© Dave Arenas 7/27/2003

© Dave Arenas Short Stack Story Time 2015

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