1980s: Poems and Lyrics
"How about a pair of pink sidewinders
And a bright orange pair of pants?"
-- Billy Joel
"Eat your salad before it gets cold."
-- Suzanne Somers as Chrissy Snow
I came across a manila folder of poems/lyrics I pecked out on an IBM Selectric typewriter during late seventies when I was in the Navy, stationed in Misawa, Japan, and married to a knock-out American woman nine years my senior. I apologize to the U. S. Government for writing these pieces during my regular work hours more than 30 years ago.
When I got of the Navy – and that marriage – I attended the University of Missouri-Columbia School of Journalism and continued to noodle around with poems and lyrics, stealing from Ogden Nash, John Prine and Bob Dylan.
My last hurrah at poetry/songwriting was during the four years I spent in New York City. Shame on anyone who doesn’t write poetry while living in New York City. And shame on me for this sappy drivel, which is printed as it was written. Looking back, many of the references are horribly dated.
During the long, long week I spent in July 1980 in San Francisco awaiting discharge from the U.S. Navy I frequented a bar where the cocktail waitress wore her hair in the sideways ponytail-style of Suzanne Somers. I had spent the prior two years in Japan and didn’t know who Suzanne Somers was and found the hairstyle disconcerting.
I remember asking her why she wore her hair that way. She gave a dirty look and punched in Billy Joel’s newest hit “It’s Still Rock and Roll To Me,” on the jukebox. I loathe that song.
That was my introduction to the eighties; I was never comfortable with the MTV decade, although I married a pretty Staten Island girl 12 years my junior in 1987 and sired two great kids.
What's In It For Her's What's In It For Him
(He sings)
Honey, I need the eggs
You've got a carton
Baby, I need a drink
You're Dolly Parton
Go on: Pierce my fool heart
With your rusty spike
Give my kickstand a kick
I'll hop on your bike
Step aside when I fall
Hang up when I call
Please: Crush me when I'm tall
I'll stick around, though
Skin me when I'm too fat
Show me tit for tat
Take my this, leave my that
Please: Keep me in tow
(She sings)
A lifetime together?
I do? You do, too?
New dogs, the same old trick
The fault lies with you
A life cast in plastic
Mounted on a cake
With feet mired in icing
Sunk in a frosting lake
Please: Catch me when I fall
Answer when I call
And praise me when I'm tall
Don't stick around, though
Oh, thin me when I'm fat
My tit for your tat
Leave my this, take my that
Can't keep you in tow
1986
Unto Themselves (Since No One Else Will Listen)
Can’t drink. Only twenty
Too dark. I can’t see
I still dish out plenty
Right on! MTV!
Some say I am fatal
Drinks are good and sweet
And on the first date I'll. . .
This place sure is neat
They're a dime a dozen
They're an even draw
They're two rusty old nails
They're that new lockjaw
They're a blank picture book
They're four blackened eyes
They're a deaf man's love song
They're words to the wise
They're a dullard's ramblings
They're little black lies
They're a young girl's daydreams
They're no one's surprise
They're tough acts to follow
They're cries and guffaws
They're paper umbrellas
They're thorns in their paws
Wanna kiss me or what?
Listen. . . Manilow!
Easy yes, but no slut
Light here's too darned low
Is it 'your place or mine?'
One Long Island Tea
Name's Sally O'Hara
Salted nuts! And free.'
Last call now; drink 'em up!
So soon? Only ten
Final round, paper cup
Hey! Give me my pen!
Gonna give me a call?
How come? What for? Why?
Number’s scratched on the wall
Can't see; it's too high
December 1985
The Reason Whores
Sandy and Susan sat at the bar
Beating beer mugs to the time
Pony tails waving to the New Wave
In designer jeans looking fine
Later at night, naked at home,
Save for fishnets and spiked heels,
They'll do just about any ol' thing
Gobble Quaaludes, smoke banana peels
But listen here, four eyes
You know, really. What's it all mean?
You may think we’re dumb air heads
But your perception's not too keen
For teleologically speakin'
We’re following' our true course
Been aesthetic, ethical, religious
Pulled trains, shot horse
Still the questions remain:
Is there reason for the acts?
Is there order to the cosmos?
Is there proof of all these facts?
They'll tell you quite bluntly
Truth's for sure Janus-faced
All rhymes are but approximate
All keys have been misplaced
We'll tie you up fast
And tell you you're bad
You can tie us up, too,
If you really get mad
Don't be too quick to judge us
Stand up and look around
Face the Muzak and dance, man,
Smell our smell, hear our sound
How can you respect us in the mornin’
When you don't respect us now?
How do you expect to get any,
Mister Holier Than Thou?
You see, nothin' really matters
Morality's a silly bore
Don't try to figure it all out
For reason's just a whore
February 28, 1981
Mankind Appreciates Your Sudden Hospitality
The typewriter wanes: the keys are out of tune.
The turntable feigns: the singer moans and croons
The waitress pains: flings forks, knives and spoons.
Now my battery’s dead. Christ, it just goes to show.
A robber warns a teller: “Your money or your life!”
The teller warns right back: “Your children or your wife!”
The robber drops his pistol. Says: “I’m sick of this strife
It’s either too fast or too slow.”
We think, thank, thunk
Get drink, drank, drunk
And stink, stank, stunk
Are swim, swam, sunk
Get a call from some lady I hardly even knew.
“Won’t you stop by for supper? I’ve sweetbreads and stew.”
My stomach starts a howlin’ like coyotes at the zoo.
Say: “Sure. Why not? I need a free meal.”
She gets silly-stoned and dances a frantic rhumba
And later does card tricks: “Here, pick any number.”
We laugh together nervously and share a delirious slumber.
Next morning I wake to a nudge from her husband’s boot heel.
Walk down to Locust Street, where a party's going on.
Meet a lady from Malaysia wearing a sarong.
Looks depressed to me. I ask: “What’s the hell’s a wrong?”
She gives me the finger, growls: “None of your Goddamn business!”
So I finger her back. Her reaction’s quite deranged.
Then some teenaged girl hollers: “Hey, mister. Spare change?”
We argued principles: both short and long range.
Until finally, thank God, she passes out from dizziness.
Fumble through my wallet: Feels a thin as a dime.
A one-legged man asks: “Hey, buddy, can you spare the time?”
Just to look at that rascal sends a chill up my spine.
He thanks me kindly, then falls in the river.
Stop in for some coffee, black, no sugar, no cream.
Think to myself: “Jesus, this feels like a dream”
When heaven rears its holy head and sends down a beam.
I grab for an arrow inside my empty quiver.
August 10, 1980
Columbia, Missouri
Birthday Party, 1980
Happy birthday, happy birthday!
Your time's close at hand
The party's just started
Let's strike up the band!
Friend, family, and foe
Bring gifts from afar
Silk, spices, and such
A shiny sports car
A toast of champagne
And breakfast in bed
"For she's a jolly good fellow"
Your face turns beet red
But the party's soon over
With toppled salt shakers
Dirty dishes to do
Crushed party hats, silent noisemakers
Happy birthday, feliz cumpleanos!
You, asleep in the chair
Buenos noches, mi hermana
Nobody said it was fair
February 1980
Patrick Timothy Mullikin
1274 N. College Ave.
Claremont, CA 91711