Members Only

After school, we climb the old bare wood stairs
up the musty hallway to the attic, stepping over
the clutter of clothes piled on the landing, three
steps below the stained bed sheet that marks
the doorway to the dark room closed in with a
blacked out window beneath the apex of the slanted
ceiling.Walled in by sheet rock and ply wood
paneling, framed and held together by rusty nails
and recycled two by fours.

Rock and roll posters, psychedelic paintings, bits
and pieces of misshapen concave and convex
mirrors hang on the walls to enhance the décor.
A black shag carpet remnant covers the floor and an
old mattress and box spring lay in the corner across
from a disheveled love seat, its legs lopped off and
neatly wedged against the wall.

There are milk crates for chairs and a large wooden
cable spool, courtesy of LILCO used for a table.
The television sits on top of an antique dresser with
drawers for storage of record albums, bongs, rolling
paper, candles and other legal and illegal paraphernalia.
A quadraphonic stereo system lies hidden within a
camouflaged cabinet built into the wall with four
speakers placed in each corner of the room.

They provide wrap around surround sound spaced
apart to heighten the senses as strobe and black
lights flash and the flames of candles dance.
This is our fun house, our place to get high or lay
low, groove to tunes, drink beer, pop pills and smoke
pot before we go hang out at the strip mall parking lot.
This room defines us with its crazy odd collage
of shade and color, a mix of outlaw cool and offbeat wild.

And hung on the wall by the door is the old wooden
STOP sign with names, initials and symbols carved into it.
It is an autograph ledger of all those who have passed
by, passed through, passed on and passed out in this room.

This is the official membership list to a private club.

And once you have signed in, you are on the outs
                with authority and society.
You have become one of us.
                You are one of the people
                             your parents warned you about.

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Sábado, Agosto 20, 2011 - 00:14

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poetpete

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