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@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; Jalapeno Gunblaze, At Dinner While Visiting San Francisco, With Prolegomenon [Repost]
[As I post this poem to Postpoems, I freely admit that it is just an imitation of a poem that Lewis Carroll wrote, called "Hiawatha's Photographing." When I read the poem by Lewis Carroll, titled "Hiawatha's Photographing" I felt that I ought to use this rather unique meter to present a tale of Jalapeno Gunblaze, dining in a San Francisco steakhouse, with a spectacular view of the Pacific from the coastline, the far edge of California.]
In a rather high-end steakhouse,
on the coastline of the city,
San Francisco, that great city,
California's finest city;
in this steakhouse, where (I had hoped)
neither prudes nor haters stuffed their
big mouths; in this well appointed
steakhouse with its vast, commanding
view of the Pacific water
(bluer than a boyfriend's blue eyes,
bluer than a barefoot, surfer
boyfriend's blue eyes during twilight);
in December, 1980,
I sat at a corner table
in this elegant, distinguished
San Francisco steakhouse---famous
for its heavy, loaded platters
(those who say, "I wouldn't be too
sure of that" ought to enjoy one):
this had been well recommended
to me by the words of K-Bone
on the c.b.'s channel nineteen
during my long journey westward
(five days' drive, at the speed limit,
westward from southwest Ohio,
over four interstate highways).
In that steakhouse, K-Bone told me,
a fierce gunslinger (remembered
by his nickname, Jalapeno
Gunblaze) who had been the lover
of a young Lakota (known as
WildColt) had interviewed by
a reporter from New Hampshire---
Luke Thrine, from Amherst, New Hampshire,
the birthplace of Jalapeno
Gunblaze. I tried to imagine
how this interview transpired, and
the wait-staff, aware that I was
not familiar with the legend,
pointed out the very table
where the famed gunslinger had sat,
clad in an expensive, tailored
three-piece suit, and shoes imported
from Marseille, France (quite expensive)
as if he had been a wealthy
lawyer, merchant, engineer or
alderman---rather than just some
gunslinger. As for his mundane
name, he---during his sad childhood---
had been bullied because he seemed
"diff'rent" somehow and his classmates
often made fun of his name (nor
did their parents or their teachers
bother to forbid this). When he
fled his hometown, headed westward,
many thought that he would fail there,
in the west, or maybe even
perish there, murdered by some thug,
or rolled by some local bullies
whose weekend delight was rolling
queers---taking their wallets, and their
lives sometimes. But Jalapeno
quickly learned how to protect his
person, and any of his loved
ones (like WildColt): and, really, his
eye and aim were quite precise and
his right hand both fast and steady.
From the men who had instructed
him in the art of the gun-sling,
he received (and grateful for it)
the nickname of Jalapeno
Gunblaze, and by that he became
known to his friends and foes alike.
And to WildColt, he was a most
attentive and tender lover;
but to those who sought to roll him,
or WildColt, or any like them,
he became a terrifying
fearsome adversary with a
deadly aim and accuracy.
Starward
