In the top bunk to my left, Romeo and Juanita coo love story. Two bunks below me on

my right, Richard, a blond harlot, sad, aging against the night because he’s too

weak to rage; vain, desperate, lonely, and horribly frightened; so tragic in a

world where just simply tragic is a good day, will unsuccessfully seduce me with

Ramen Noodles lovingly crafted with bits and pieces of yesterday’s menu by his Man

Friday through Friday; David, a serious soul with a pony tail and late stage AIDS.

He was busted for growing the pot he needs to tolerate chemotherapy. That’s his

story. His stoic facade masks his rage. His is a rage I share just as Saint Francis

shared the pain of the stigmata. Or your pain when falling stars make you cry.

David may take his fury to the grave sooner than anyone with heart can bare, but if

that should occur, I will pick up his torch where he drops it. He will know that

his life has meaning. It will be my honor, my privilege, my duty … and the beat

goes on and on. And so on goes the beat. Over on the boardwalk, a beautiful young

couple head over heals in love pass my bunk over and over and over again. Little

Miss Nubian Princess will give up on me before the night is through. Tom from

Alabama will invite me over for a chicken sandwich. And the beat will continue to

go on. Over in my far right hand corner, perched above the community latrines; cold

water showers and faulty-six-bucks-a-minute-you-gotta-call-collect-pay-phones-even-

though-most-folks-are-poor-but-justice-is-big-business-freaky-mean-and-foul-and-we-

don’t-give-a-fuck-because-we-have-no-soul-much-less-heart stands the impenetrable

glass and metal cage where a big, brawny, handsome, black, mean son of a bitch,

Deputy Love, lurks. Lost in a computer screen dream, he only lights up to pull the

plug to the giant TV screen. This is our punishment for being fags, or inmates, if

you prefer, or freer than he could ever be. And the beat goes on and on and on.

12/20/2006

Posted on 12/20/2006
Copyright © 2025 Scott Utley