True Stories #1
This is the first of what will be a series of little vignettes.
When I was fourteen,
I was the alienate hipster rebel
In a private school hellhole.
Hair long, tie knot never pushed up,
Unbuttoned button-down shirts,
Camus lover,
Siddhartha disciple,
Small acts of disdain,
Expressions of teenage hell-pain.
One day, the principal
Threw me out to get a haircut.
Went to the nearby barbershop,
Which was in the underground,
Subway stop.
Returned to school where It was
Pronounced unacceptable.
Twice more this charade-escapade,
Went on, till the barber cried and would not
Charge me anymore.
Shorn like a lamb,
My mother roared like a lion.
The next day, the man in charge,
Who would marry my second son,
Three decades later,
Called me in and sort-of-apologized.
From that day, I never respected authority,
Only learned to fear tyranny.
See photo of my latest protest!
Someday one of my descendants may stumble on this "poem." I am storing these kernels of me, here.
Also explains the roots of this poem!
Nat Lipstadt · May 24
Growing Down: Used to tell 'em not to cut my hair too short
Used to tell 'em not to cut my hair too short,
When I was young-old,
Nowadays I just tell him cut it short,
so it
Spikes...Yikes!
Makes me realize,
Vanity is one of my
Oldest friends,
And also, one of my
Oldest enemies.
I like Bob Dylan's songs,
Like him better these days,
When younger voices cover him,
And I hear his word-songs differently.
Oh I love to laugh,
Especially at myself,
Silly boy in the mirror,
Who the heck are you Grandpa?
I am,
The Times They Are-A-Changin'
Nowadays, I'm growing down