a child’s busride around Teaneck       

(a dream recalled)

moving between glass alleyways

hauling recording equipment in my arms,

an appleseed girl

with painted wet long black hair

opened her screen door

to let out some air

“want some help?” 

as she offered a cup of her homegrown coffee,

"but please do not make another try for whatever it is you want from me”

the room stood off

perched on a faded green rug with

an excuse for a table piled on top of it

after I unloaded the equipment

we paused a moment,

our hands stuck in each other’s back pockets,

facing off

“are you heading for the festival later tonight?” she finally broke the silence

“only if i can be certain someone will be there to open the doors”

her older sister suddenly climbed in through one of the broken windows,

and pointing at me while checking out the recording equipment :

“what is it he wants from you that he hasn’t stolen already?”

inspired, i picked up the alto leaning against the wall

and began blowing the only notes left

i sensed couldn’t be heard by the women

observing my oversized buccinator muscle,  

“where’d you learn to wail like that?”, one of them demanded

but never really having learned anything  well in my life

i  simply continued blowing

as if these were the first sounds my throat and lips had ever made

then as if on cue, the older sister quickly began undressing 

in front of a small concave mirror hanging down from the ceiling,

while her beautiful sister began gathering up the machines i had brought in with me:

“keep your time straight”, she warned, “or I won’t let you recognize me when the festivities begin”

i stumbled out into the driving rain

astonished and alone,

contemplating this “clockwork dream” I was inside of,

and already feeling the effects

of that homegrown coffee,

as a barking cat brushed up against me

somehow ideas began to make sense,

my surreal over-world

CLICK!

the hallway was crowded with everyone searching for each other.

in the back of an adjoining room were

three or four long tables with some people seated in folding chairs.

on the surrounding walls

hung posters of their favorite heroes-

Trotsky, Malcolm, Lenin…all the boys

peered out at the gathering troops

as if their eyes were about to be gouged out by mad fanged dogs

petitions, baskets of buttons, essays on freedom-

all of these items laid out on a crimson left wing quilt,

with every once in a while someone producing some coin

to authenticate the scene

me, after being knocked over for a second  time,

I scrambling up off the floor of the great hall

and began looking for familiar faces,

 but instead there stood the girl with the long black hair

“your people have obviously left you to stand up for yourself tonight”, she warned

“but i thought you and i had a chess match planned” i suggested to distract her from this guy dressed in denim 

sprinkling water around her knees like a plant

“sorry, not tonight, i cannot converse with you any longer in this world”, she added skating away, “but if it would make you feel more secure 

i wouldn’t mind laughing at you behind your back”

obviously puzzled and  thwarted,

I began scratching my eczema ear,

my eyes intently studying the flakes as they swirled downward

and it was then i noticed my maternal grandmother 

sitting alone at a huge table cable-stitching another navy v-neck, 

a half filled glass of coffee and some sugar cubes at her elbow:

“Bubby, i’ll see you Friday to pick up the chicken soup”, i was going to reassure her when the lights went on!

“did you do that?”, a little girl standing next to me whispered

“sure honey, i had to”, i lied,

and just as the huge room flickered

a ticket fell out of my shirt pocket,

everything went dark again,

as the next feature began flickering up on the screen

Paterson

3/24/69 of a dream on 3/23/69