The Shameless Summer (Poetic Prose--Reedited 5-2008)
The Shameless Summer ((1959—the old mud hole of Cayuga Street) (poetic Prose))
The street was being torn up, to be a highway, a number of men worked at the end of the road where there resided two dead ends, South to Indians Mound, where we all stooped over and under and around the bridge they were building to look at the mud hole they created, where we swam, seemed to wait for us this year. The mud, lumped and cool, we swam in it slowly waved our muddy hands over the top of it, feeling the fresh wind above our heads, somehow we lost the scent of mud, and we were half naked, and some naked, and the highway to be we preyed it be, a few years down the road. So here we were all wavering under the shameless sun I was but twelve years of age, restless like everyone and as the darkness fell upon us all (night after night), a bright darkness from the moon, Roger, and me, Mike and Doug, and a number of girls lay face upward, on this stale mud water laughing and playing childlike, unreal, unimaginable: mud, mud for everyone, like a blanket it covered our skin Roger and his gal lay floating away, as it they were on the open sea, in some glittery movie, to be shown at the cinema; and the play went on and on and on, like dirty dishwater in a pan, but some how it all seemed rather healthy, back in ’59.
Note: The mud hole was not there the following year, but we must have gone to it a dozen times that summer. There is nothing like a little swimming pool, half mud or not, that can make the summer more interesting than normal, and it did. I think for Roger, it was a playground to seduce his new girlfriends, for me it was play yard to play in, but then Roger was a number of years older than I, perhaps four or five. Mike, my brother was now fourteen, and I think drinking and for him it was a show house to get drunk, observe and go crazy, booze was never his forte. All in all, it was a brazen summer.
1/21/2007 #1629 (Dedicated to the Old Gang of the 60s, of Cayuga Street)) St. Paul, Minnesota))
The street was being torn up, to be a highway, a number of men worked at the end of the road where there resided two dead ends, South to Indians Mound, where we all stooped over and under and around the bridge they were building to look at the mud hole they created, where we swam, seemed to wait for us this year. The mud, lumped and cool, we swam in it slowly waved our muddy hands over the top of it, feeling the fresh wind above our heads, somehow we lost the scent of mud, and we were half naked, and some naked, and the highway to be we preyed it be, a few years down the road. So here we were all wavering under the shameless sun I was but twelve years of age, restless like everyone and as the darkness fell upon us all (night after night), a bright darkness from the moon, Roger, and me, Mike and Doug, and a number of girls lay face upward, on this stale mud water laughing and playing childlike, unreal, unimaginable: mud, mud for everyone, like a blanket it covered our skin Roger and his gal lay floating away, as it they were on the open sea, in some glittery movie, to be shown at the cinema; and the play went on and on and on, like dirty dishwater in a pan, but some how it all seemed rather healthy, back in ’59.
Note: The mud hole was not there the following year, but we must have gone to it a dozen times that summer. There is nothing like a little swimming pool, half mud or not, that can make the summer more interesting than normal, and it did. I think for Roger, it was a playground to seduce his new girlfriends, for me it was play yard to play in, but then Roger was a number of years older than I, perhaps four or five. Mike, my brother was now fourteen, and I think drinking and for him it was a show house to get drunk, observe and go crazy, booze was never his forte. All in all, it was a brazen summer.
1/21/2007 #1629 (Dedicated to the Old Gang of the 60s, of Cayuga Street)) St. Paul, Minnesota))
Labels: Dennis L. Siluk, Ed.D., Poeta Laureado
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 9:14 PM
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