nothing to lose

me in a down mood out of tone and tune with myself from making same old pattern of mistakes but getting myself out on sunny warmish day pushing my walker down Wellington east of Hickson where I see a guy with loud drunken voice in ripped t-shirt and jail tattoos suddenly staggering out of oldtime hotdog place past a young girl pushing baby carriage with stunned look in eyes that will later change into a hard gleam that goes with a bitter pull to the mouth that comes with second and third kid in same old pattern of poverty but more squeezed and constrained into lesser space with gentrification narrowing what little choice there already was in the same old same old passing along thinking about when I was living just down the street from my old pal Jackie who was often getting loud and out of order in drunken broad daylight back in ripped t-shirts of the 70’s when I was just getting newly famous for writing about Jackie in plays like ‘On The Job’ and ‘Nothing To Lose’ celebrating what turned out to be his utter and terrible defeat
what would have happened to dave fennario of thirty years ago if I’d have been trapped into some deadend awful common fate shared with those who shared these streets with me back then instead of miraculously ascending into fame too strange so strange...i don’t know and really don’t spend much time thinking about it maybe because but my focus now is the same focus I had then that still makes my voice snarl and my eyes shine
Revolution