PARODY Poem: Poem about…, by Peyton S. Perry

In dawn’s doorway stood a man.
Drunk on lies, left behind, all alone,
Confronts the bringer of his pain.
Only to be dropped like a stone,
And kicked around across the road,
No one ever stopping to share his load,
But all he’d ever known was keeping on.
He never asked for help from…you.

But one night, he stepped inside
Of a dirty ole bar room filled,
To the brim, when a greasy fella came in.
Slapped him on the shoulder and said he was Tim.
Bought him a shot and said he’d be alright
Told him to keep on…trucking, yeah.
The man thanked Tim for his advice
Tried to buy him a gin
But Tim denied and bought himself a beer instead
The man rested his head, then, back to the road again.

The same road he’d walked now and times again.
He knows The Road better than anyone he’s ever been,
But low and behold, it throws him for a spin.
He walks, deceived once again, leading him off course
To where he stands before her, dawn’s rosy, red fingers.
Leading him inside her realm of day,
She betrayed his trust more than once before,
But she greets him well and tells him to come on in.
She said, “It’s nice to see you again. How’ve you been?”

Silent, he stood closing the door.
She just spoke again, welcoming him in,
But he turned and scorned the lady,
The lady who brought him his hate.
She knew him well,
But she knew him back then.
Now he stands far more lost than he’s ever been,
And she sat, remained, to find old tenderness within.

He told her, “There was no going back
Those days have passed, and that is that.”
He wanted to leave, and he opened the door,
And saw there was no road he’d traveled before.
Not to say there was no road, but the road led nowhere.
The door, he shut in her face walking in the shadows,
Hating he had been made to face the long-awaited day.
This was to come no matter the way.

So he looked inside at her face, remembered her grace,
Knowing it sometime before, again, he shut the door.
She smiled and let him see her in her true form,
And he remembered once more why he had left before,
And standing there now, he could think.
Very well, think of a couple more.
He didn’t say another word, but did get up
And stepped out through that same nowhere door.
Landed on pavement and headed exactly there, nowhere.

Glad to have left ‘er,
Sad to have met her,
He headed away from that wretched place.
Just as he got away, he had no umbrella
And it started to rain, and what’d ya know,
Walking along that nowhere road, he couldn’t believe.
It was really him, the greasy bar rat. It’s Tim!
Somehow they found a bar, without knowing where they are
And Time bought a beer, and then he pulled out
A joint.

Bartender yelled something obscure, couldn’t make out.
Then he got in the man’s face and began to shout:
“He you, queer, you can’t smoke that reefer here.
Get the hell out, or…or at least give me a toke.
It’s been three goddamn days,” he said, “I’ve been
On my feet all day and sober since May.
Just give me a puff, one’ll be enough, and you
Stay right here, finishing your beer
Ain’t no reason to go smoke out in the rain.”

The Man looked at Tim, who’d been
Awfully quiet through this scene, sipping his beer
Tim’s face was twisted and a mad pirate’s grin, sort of
Sour, kind of weird, as raindrops fell into his lager.
That’s when Tim, “Who you be in a timeless place?
The Master of Weather or something else for Pete’s sake.
I ain’t got no taste for timeless rain to waste my beer
So who Yee be?” he shouted as the rain fell,
In the bar, the bartender snapped and fell no longer.

“Holy Sheet, was that magic or what!” said the Man,
getting up “I’ll smoke out back with strange alley cat.”
There went smoking out back on a fat joint
Tim had acquired south of this nowhere border.
Then that strange alley cat slunk out of hiding,
From somewhere in the back, and all of a sudden started
Talking crap about who knows what and where
We’re really at.

Tim stopped him in his tracks, “Hey Jack,
That ain’t where it’s at. Take a hit of this grass
Let those worries pass. We ain’t being watched.
We’re simply forgotten…”
Tim took a drag and passed
It again. Round it went till it was back to Tim,
Who began to say again, “A generation of sheep.
Denied our dreams by near-forced glutinous desire
For stimulus unlimited to the eye.

“To slaughter
We go to work the wheel with no grist ever and on
We go looking, looking for some speck of satisfaction
In the world within, a reflective speck
Of what our mind constantly consumes.
The photogenic life of uniqueness
Causing our expectations to narrow.
Slendered down to unrealistic proportions.”

The Man simply nodded. Strang alley cat agreed,
“An astute observation, well-formed examination indeed.”
The joint turned to roach, and well stoned,
They were well equipped to get back on their nowhere
Trip down that shadowed road, not knowing where it is,
Nor was it particularly going.
They agreed to travel together, Tim and the Man.
Eager to see if they could form some traveling band.

Who knows where they’ll go, maybe even leave
That pointless road and open up a show
In a town near you, or on all your streaming devices.
It’s the Traveling Band featuring Tim
And The Man.