I hiked in the cold to my building from Tech
I finally finished my long-as-hell trek.
I climbed tons of stairs way up to the fifth floor
And to my surprise a tie hung on my door.
“Oh, shitfuck!” I heard myself angrily speak.
My roommate did this almost three times a week!
And worse still the walls were indeed paper-thin,
So I could hear all of the loud, clapping skin!
Outside the Keg, I loosed a sigh,
The frigid air cut to my core.
“It should be spring,” I dared to cry,
“Still freezing cold! Chi-town! You whore!”
It was past one, a Friday night,
And dark as Tisdahl’s crumpled heart.
I felt my mind flood then with fright,
For I had quite a trek to start.
Though I had drank with all my boys
I had forgotten what I’d known.
For I lived North, At Sherman-Noyes,
And now, alas, I was alone.
I gazed upon the road ahead
Its passage paved with glacial air
And thought, “I would rather be dead,
Then walk the way from here to there.”
But dare I face the other choice?
A risky move at better times!
“Just call safe ride!” rang out a voice!
“Or Anything! Except the El!”
But I ignored that fateful call
And soon I found myself again,
Inside an almost empty hall
Of rattling steel, upon the train.
I say ‘almost’ for there was one
Who sat across the car from me.
He sat as silent as a nun,
His forehead resting on his knee.
“Only two stops,” I muttered then.
“Yes! Only two, and then I’m home.”
Oh hope, how you do toy with men!
Alas, if I had only known!
For as the train began to fly
And travel North, to bare me hence,
This other man, he met my eye
With such a glare to give offense.
And then he stood and turned, and sort
Of slowly, he began to stride
Along the aisle, stopping short
Of where I sat; of where I cried.
For I had seen a dreadful sight!
A sight most terrible and crude.
He was riding the El at night,
Completely and utterly nude!
At last the train came to a stop
At Foster: one stop short of mine.
I lept from my seat with a hop,
And found myself, at 1:09,
Back on the road, to walk the rest.
For I had seen a gruesome scene,
And I had learned that it is best,
To stagger home in moonlight’s gleam.
Remember this! Please hear my cries,
And save yourself a horrid fright.
That comes from seeing naked guys,
Who ride the el here, late at night!
Last night, yeah, last night I was sitting in my living room next to a fire fueled by the heads of my enemies, stroking ‘Metta World Hunger,’ my beloved hyena.
Reading about techniques to maintain the perfect rose garden and shit.
When all of a sudden some soon-to-be-dead motherfucker went all a-knocking on my chamber door. And I said ‘Yo it’s just some soon-to-be-dead motherfucker rapping on my chamber door.
Only some shit like that and nothing more.’
Ah, distinctly I still wake up from terrible nightmares of last December. As I watched Nash and Pau drag their decrepit corpses all across the floor.
Eagerly, I wished to be traded.
Vainly, I tried to escape Kobe, and wept for the loss of my beloved mind.
For the rare and radiant hoodrat-for-life my mother named Ronald.
Metta Word Peace for evermore.
Sherman Ave 