Shave & a Haircut, 2 bits

Not being a devout Catholic
or an Irish whiskey bum,
hell, not even a good Brethren conGREGant
in a luke warm puddle of piss
on the heroin-soaked sidewalk near the Village
Vanguard singing jazz with
Sonny Rollins when he had a reed
stuck between his lips making it
hard for him to sing so he played
the saxophone instead,
i stopped
and began to notice the strange faces
of the strange people walking past.
Face adrift in a camel cigarette smoke screen,
i spent 3 weeks sitting near an alley entrance
with dharma bums saying their Hail Marys
Full of Grace between bites of hot franks and cold beans.
and there was a great buzz at our lunch counter when Pearl
dropped an ear ring in a customer's soup bowl
and the customer refused to give it back, figuring it
was his lucky day.
But she wasn't having none of it and plunged a hand
into the red mess, finding the ear ring before her shift ended.
The barber shop was upstairs where a quick cut and a
stab of wax on the few remaining hairs by my forehead cost
a whole fifty cents, 25 more than the movies but enough
to keep the girls convinced I was a neat one.
but i had no romantic visions unless i was drinking,
and then i was a constant, restless action figure,
sympathetic to a point yet mostly interested in myself and
undisturbed by the growing threat of war.
i should have paid it more mind, 'cause sure enough i was
drafted into the US Army and had my ass shipped in a box
to a foreign land where i saw more strange people with
strange faces but couldn't speak their language even though
they knew mine.  7 years i wandered, in and out of uniform
in and out of trouble and i knew i wanted to find & was
looking for a slice of the pie which wasn't store bought.
so i sat in the bakery booth, waiting for my crowd to gather and hoping
the poets brought some new visions, a couple of tasty insights
to explain the whole Truth your Honor and nothing but the Truth,
wanting to hear them read their work with the passion it deserved,
tossing spit balls at each other, drinking wine and popping pills
if need be to get beyond the cute worry about tragic Self.
i never had a problem with loud voices,
as long as they have an owner, just like a dog
uncovering an old bone and proud of it.