I don’t remember much about them
except you’d look and some guy
might be wearing a headdress of Indian
everybody was covered with beads
and were passing joints.
they stretched around on comfortable rugs
didn’t do anything.
I don’t know how they made the rent.
the woman I was living with was
always telling me, “I’m going to a
“all right,” I’d tell her.
she’d come back and say something
like, “I met this BEAUTIFUL BLACK
MAN!” or, “we made the cops smile!
I gave one a FLOWER!”
I seemed to be the only person with
an 8-hour job.
and there were always people
coming through the door and raiding
my refrigerator for food and beer.
“WE SHARE!” the woman I lived with
told me, “WE SHARE OUR LOVE!”
a guy would stick his face into mine.
drunk on my beer, he’d scream:
“YOU OUGHTA SEE THE YELLOW
“what’s that?” I asked.
“THE BEATLES, MAN, THE
I thought he meant “beetles.”
then there was somebody called
they even talked me into going on
an LSD trip.
I found it to be stupid.
“you failed,” they told me, “you failed,
you didn’t open up.”
“Peace!” I said, “Peace!”
then, I don’t know, all at once
the 60’s seemed to be
almost everybody vanished just like
you’d see a few of the leftovers
now and then
down at Venice Beach,
standing around on corners,
sitting on benches
looking really washed-out,
with very vacant stares,
at the turn of events.
they slept in cars,
stole what they could
and demanded hand
I don’t know where all the others
I think they got suits and ties
and went looking for
the 8-hour job.
the 70’s had arrived.
and that’s when I dropped out.
and I had the whole place
From "The Flash of Lightning Behind the Mountain" (Charles Bukowski)
Nota: incluiré mi traducción en el futuro cercano, cuando tenga más tiempo...