Bob Dylan and Me…..

Bob Dylan and Me

Fifteen and not cool.

Parents off fighting

The war called marriage.

We kids on the battlefield

Carrying water to each side.

High school, all four years

Of it brutal.

Sadistic teachers who should

Have beeb gone, but hung on.

Only God knows why.

It was the times of Commies

Dropping bombs on our baseball fields

(we hoped…)

The time of ‘squat and hug your knees’

All good training for life to come.

Gloria, an outcast for her pimples

A kindred spirit

Got tickets to a ‘real New York folk singer’

Said the wall posters, blowing in the wind.

So we primped,

And curled our hair into flips,

Wore best Sunday dresses

Because we weren’t  cool.

The name of the folk singer

Meant nothing to us

We were too young,

Too wet behind the ears

To know what was cool.

They took one look

And some wit decided

We were a kink backdrop

And put us on stage behind


“New York Folk Singer”

A skinny kid,

With messy hair

Playing a guitar.

With faded blue jeans

That fell off his hips.

We were right behind him,

Our ankles crossed

Our hands in our laps

Looking at his shapeless ass.

Drunken boys from Princeton

Yelled rudely:

“Hey, Bobbie!  Play Blowin’ in the Wind”.

“Hey, Bobbie!  Get some singing lessons!”

More than a few bear cans were thrown on the stage,

While we kept on smiling and nodding

And Bobbie kept turning, mystified

At the two white clad girls

Who shouldn’t be there.

I didn’t know the word then,

But if I had to guess,

His mouth formed “WTF”

At the chaos out front

And the aliens behind him.

Each time he would turn

We would smile and clap–

He would bow.

A private performance

For two virgins in white.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

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