Rain Dancing on the Oakland Streets

By The Light of the Argon

The Master Isherwood
once from the south
so deep
so far into the depths
no one ever goes down there anymore,
Now his son lives in Westwood
nightly steamy sawed off soulfests
works in a punk band called Blood
on the Strip near The Whiskey,
The bar maid owned an old truck
and parked it out back under an awning,
when it rained she'd crawl inside
and listen to college radio,
One day she gave notice at the bar
had enough of LA and the Strip
decided to drive up through Canada
through Painted Woods outside of Bismarck
then onto the Badlands
and the dark forests of the Dakotas
along the wide Missouri,
One late afternoon while putting up her tent
down past an old creek in a cul de sac
she found an old Mandan Indian stash of Custer's gold
he'd stolen from the Apaches just before Little Big Horn,
Now she's living in the South Of France
with a girl named Lilli Marlene
smart as a bell as one can tell,
She loves to sit nude in the sun
and read Mark Twain
sipping on Mint Juleps in the rain