Fornia
It was just a lark man,
fornia, fornia—California,
thumb out and meeting the peeps,
wouldn't do it now—no way!
But then it was cool, so cool,
fornia, fornia, California, like the sound of that name.
Means sun, out of the f-ing rain man,
love the beaches,
those fornia girls so niiiiice,
so tanned,
thumb out and on my way, meeting those peeps,
the gal who drove bare foot down the San Jose freeway,
twin brothers who gave me a ride to Sacramento as I caught Zs on the back seat of their Pinto,
B-Zerkley and all those peeps man, everywhere all at the same time.
Gay guy took me back to his dorm, wanted to make it, sorry fella, not my scene.
Later sleeping by a tree in Big Sur, middle of the night, thundering rain storm, pulled my
army poncho over top and zzzzzzzz…
Next morning my thumb snagged the first car on Highway One,
all the way from Boston he was, looking for his next place of residence,
stopping for directions, I went and knocked, no one home,
but get this—a fresh box of jelly donuts sitting on a chair by the door.
Smiling I hand one to the driver, he smiles back,
what are the odds? Breakfast.
He hands me a Coors to wash it down.
That night back in my sleeping bag, 2 am, Santa Barbara College football field, I discovered they had an underground sprinkler system. Who would have guessed?
Next day, first three rides in a row they're all smoking joints,
an Oxnard gal on her way to work picks me up just to get me high,
finally had to get out and walk the full length of Zuma Beach to straighten out.
Fornia, fornia, California.
Memories brought me back there again,
it was always special since I was a kid and saw my first palm tree,
“Hey Mom look a palm tree!”
the bellman laughs escorting us to our motel room.
The smog was bad back then, brown, you could cut it with a knife.
The L.A. peeps drove with a can of beer between their legs,
up Sunset Boulevard to UCLA and another football field for my sleeping bag.
Frejoles, burritos, salsa, tortillas, cold cerveza—yum!
The scent of sage by the freeway,
the sun, golden, beating down by an azure swimming pool,
the aroma of eucalyptus and rosemary,
fornia, fornia, California,
I know you'll pull me back one day,
I know you will.
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Published in Spectrum Literary Journal