'Living conditions are hell, ' he said,
'it's hard to find a decent cardboard
box anymore. They all have these
damn compressors that flatten and
tie them into cubes with steel bands
for recycling.'
'So much for the future, ' I said, handing
him some change.
'You got that right, bud, ' he said, 'The
doors were plumb on, weren't they? '
Whatever he meant by that, puzzled me,
but I nodded, and smiled and went
down the stairs and into the underground to
take the silver serpent back to Brooklyn.
Inside the belly of the snake, clinging to the lifeline
with a thousand other weary Brooklynites,
the epiphany struck. The panhandler
had been referring to the title of Disc 3
in a boxed set of 4 albums released by
‘The Doors.' in 1997. It was entitled-
‘The Future Ain't What It Used To Be.'
Ah, the streets of New York, each with
its own chameleon charm.
Bert Bell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-panhandler-2/
