The Screenager And The Groover
His life is a campus novel, a legend
in passed time. He mellows his beard,
dustball feet in hippy flip-flops
and does not catch the drift
of his one ostensible son.
Offshot Zachary’s wordy
way beyond jive,
pronounces old man tree hugger, whose nosh-ups
are frankenfood. A brewpub dodderer,
a pilot without jumpstation.
A dainty palate of bytes, chips
and cursers are cakes and ale for Zach.
Getting wired is sternly off-message.
But there’s a Mexican chorus,
(something ‘bout Boogaloo)
he reminisces, a lullaby from the cradle.
It’s been intensifying like new,
in meatspace, between the ears, it tickles
now and then waiting to connect.