In which the writing process began in earnest–consisting of soft things, nice things; things your mama, your grandmamma, and them would like.
Overbearing male role models, tyrants, the clueless, the oblivious, were excluded–as a matter of course. If those were the only things to come out of my brain, I’d prefer to rewrite old stuff.
Feet don’t fail me now. We’ve got to get out of this place. Any place, but here; where I’m at-at this moment. Wasn’t that old schtick from the Gong Show?” If I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’ pa-rump-bump.
Felt like a summer day, warm, sunny, and humid. The backyard hammock felt good.
“Have you ever been, or are you now–a member of the Communist Party, or any other subversive organization?”
“No, Mr. Chairman.”
“Remember, you’re under oath.”
“Yes, Mr. Chairman.”
“That’s ironic, because I have evidence that suggests otherwise.”
There was a lot of coughing, throat-clearing, more perspiration beads on high foreheads, before the hearing continued.
“Would you like to reconsider, before you’re marched out of here in contempt?”
“I’ve nothing to say, because I’m not guilty of these accusations.”
“Guards, take this man away! Maybe some jail time will give you time to think about what you’ve done?”
I hadn’t done anything. That’s why this was all so strange.
“To the left–march!”
“Left, left–left, left, left”
All the marchers had two left feet.
“You ain’t got no friends on the left–you’re right”
“You ain’t got no friends on the right–you’re left”
“Left or right? Left or right?”
“Sound off, sound off, one, two, three”
Leftovers from the Cold War. Another daydream from this daydreaming boy, finished in time to fire up the barbecue grill.