The Beer's Gone, Boys. It's Time to Grow Up

The memories come streaming in, like tweedy
Refugees from Lodz or Vilnius, or Belarus.
Oh, underclassmen's memories: the shitty beer,
The deep discussions. Can we find enlightenment?
Is there a way to tell the truth? I left those places
Years ago, concluding (though against my will)
That no one stays enlightened long. One's
Stomach makes a fool of him. “Have you
Now suppressed desire? I have not. I need
To eat.” The Buddha smiles. “Yes, it's true.
Nirvana is a sometime thing, and bodies break
A pure mind's will. If you can die, you'll be
All right, but, otherwise, you'll fail,” and, in
The other room, the fallen Christian wants
To find a way to certify that what he thinks
Is true is true, but he cannot, unless his god
Returns to break some bones, and say
That his opinions are, in that way, what
Are real. If he does not, or, if he's absent,
Everything is up for grabs, and any sap
Who plans to posit what is real and what is
Not will learn that others disagree, and no one
Has the badge or muscle to enforce what he
Believes. The train arrives. The refugees
Escape into the ink-black night. The beer
Is gone, and, with it, wit. The underclassmen
Go to bed, aware that nothing was resolved,
And from the planet I inhabit, memories return,
I find them funny. I'm not taken in.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 190 times
Written on 2019-04-09 at 03:21

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
I like this. It's like cheap alcohol and youth believe they can change the world and older men in comfortable chairs with brandy want to keep it the same. The religious sentiments in this are good too.
2019-04-09