dazy and i were on the steps of the art instituteit was august 1968
there were protesters in the park
we would join them
after our march to the democratic convention
and climbing the statue of the horse
i always look at the pictures of the statue of the horse
in the books and magazines of that time
and believe i see myself and dazy, with his curly long hair
standing there, 18
a dealer with long, long hair approached us on the
steps of the art institute
he had sunshine
orange sunshine barrels
five bucks
“is it any good?”
“yeah, it is pretty good”
later dazy said the dealer had set up lowered expectations for us
as a gift
because in fact
it was pure and perfect
when it hit it was perfect it was perfect
someone mentioned czechoslovakia
prague was in the air
we were in awe of the word
czechoslovakia czechoslovakia
we couldn’t stop saying czechoslovakia
“look,” i said “it’s teddy kennedy”
walking on the steps of the art institute
dazy laughed a long time
i was sure it was teddy kennedy
i still am
forty years later
we went to the park until the vapor trails of tear gas canisters
no longer amused us
there seemed to be a war going on
in czechoslovakia in chicago in vietnam
we were in it
we found a car
it was my car
i think
i drove
i watched the stoplights
red means i must stop
green means i must go now
we found a house
i don’t know whose house it was
we had never been there before
they let us stay
we went to the bathroom and watched the black lights
we listened to anthem of the sun
and last time around
both sides, both albums
alligator
he had to die
i am a child
over and over all night long
the following month
i was arrested
i worked at the a&p
produce
lettuce
to pay for my lawyer
who did nothing
six months later
i was in jail
six months later
i was free
the world had turned
half a year
without me
i never caught back up with it
a few years later
i had lunch with my community college
english teacher
i understood everything everyone was saying in the entire restaurant
it was the chuck wagon
everyone was talking about me
and to me
because i was in a
paranoid schizophrenia state
that wasn’t frightening
it made it difficult to speak
to order food
but i did
“what do you call this?” i asked the teacher
she replied, “love”
it has become hard to recover that state
or perhaps
some ego, maybe mine,
has become proficient
in steering through
the red and green lights
that it never left
whatever it is
that is me
dazy lives in iowa now
i saw him in the liquor store last year
when he came back to visit
this town
he is balding now
and has a new wife
the words are still the same
we didn’t mention czechoslovakia
or the word we were after at the time
free
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