1971
Poetry
by Michael F. Nyiri
Lament
It had been a long time since he'd been in Pasadena. A long time since he had seen the Rose Parade. A long time since he'd managed to beat the stoplights on Colorado Boulevard. A long time since he'd been to a performance at the Ice House. Now as he stood on the corner looking over at P.C.C. he thought about the days when he used to attend classes there. He thought about all the friends he used to have and the times he used to have and the classes, And parties over at Fred's and Issac's, and. Of course the people weren't all hippies then as they're called by some nowadays. It had been eons since he had walked down Colorado; years since he'd been in one of the little shops. Of course now he would have long hair too if he's have had the chance over the last four years to be in the U.S. intead of some unknown thatch-hut complex in Viet-Nam. He sighed a giant sigh of relief as his thoughts brought back the Pasadena of his boyhood. And he sighed because he was able to see the city now. How many times had he taken his girl up to the hills up back of the city? How many times had he zoomed along the old freeway to L.A. on hot summer mornings. He wondered why he ever took the wrong freeway out of L.A. once. The freeway past San Bernadino. The freeway that led straight to hell. After he found that the girl he thought he loved wasn't in Nevada at all. She said she'd be there, And if he ever changed his mind he could find her. He changed his mind and quit school right in the middle of his second year and decided to find her and marry her. She hadn't waited for him. So the road took him to Indiana where he sold his car in order to eat and sleep. And he got a job in a two-bit town sweeping out an apartment building where he got an apartment in the back with ten percent off. After a year of nothing but resentment for the state he wrote to a friend in Vermont. A friend whom he hadn't seen since the guy left home when they were college freshmen and the guy said "Be sure to write." He wrote now. He took a bus up to Vermont and laid a cot down in his friend's bedroom and his friend was too much of a friend to kick him out after he proved he was too much of a burden. A few months later he realized what he was doing bumming off a guy he's really cared nothing about so he hitchhiked to the great state of New York. In New York he hardly had enough money for food and a flophouse and he got hard up for a girl because he hadn't had any since Vermont. For another few long, dragging months he suffered. He saved up money for a whore but she took his wallet and he gave up. Pasadena was a long way off. The next trip was on a plane back to California and a boat trip to the Far East only the plane and boat were free because they had 'U.S. Army' painted on the side. He thought his pay would get up enough to let him live in peace at the end of the war but what he didn't figure was that only three weeks into action he and two other guys would intercept a Cong patrol. And they threw him into a little room an tortured him and back in the states the Red Cross made a little silver bracelet with his name on it and some girl in Michigan or Florida or California wore it on her wrist. But he didn't much care about that because he didn't know about it only when a new guy came into camp who did know. And last week Barney came in. Barney is a young guy 18 who joined the Army when he was 17 because his dad died of machine gun fire in Nam last year. And Barney came from Pasadena too and he told the guys everything about how it had changed and Barney even went to P.C.C. for a semester and he described the city in detail. Barney wasn't too acquainted with POW camps. Barney died the second week. And he thought he had known Barney. Wasn't he the kid who lived down the street in one of those big old houses, Or was he the little boy on the red bicycle who delivered papers? He thought about Barney and Pasadena and the old freeway and about standing on the corner across from City College looking at the kids.. And he sighed. And then one of the slant-eyed midgets with his terrible weapons and voice came in with more misery. Yes, it had been a long time since he had been in Pasadena, And he prayed to anyone that he could be there now.
copyright 2001 by Michael F. Nyiri
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