I staggered across
the boardwalk w/
a six pack of beer
I lowered it over the fence
onto the beach & then
tumbled over the fence
into the sand
I walked a few feet
& the cardboard six pack
holder fell apart
& the beer bottles
fell in the sand.
I pulled a piece of tinfoil
out of my pocket
unwrapped it
& ate a hit & a half of
gelatin-like LSD
which was stuck to it
then I gathered up
my beer
& continued walking
toward the ocean
a cop blew a whistle
& told me to stop
& drop the beer
they escorted me
off the beach
across the boardwalk
to the street.
one of the cops
set me against
a cop car
& began interrogating me
he kept telling me to
stop spitting
I didn’t get why
he cared if I spit
or not until
I looked down
at his shoes
which were covered
in spit
(& I wasn’t even
aiming for them!)
I burst out into laughter
by the time we got
to the Seaside Heights
police station
I was feeling
the effects of the acid.
the cops made me
take all of my clothes off
& threw me in a small cell
where the acid
continued
to kick in
hard
a little while later
they brought me
out into a brightly
lit empty room
& stood me
against the wall
which was covered
w/ blood splatterings
dripping red like a
Jackson Pollock
painting
the cop who arrested me
whose shoes I had spit on
started poking a nightstick
into my chest, yelling
spit on me now, tough guy!
there were a dozen
other cops in the room
they formed a half
circle from one side
of me to the other
on the wall
they all had nights sticks too
& were slapping
them into their hands
waiting for me to make
the first move
Come on! Hit me!
yelled the cop--
I said, I’m not crazy
& did not make a move
I asked one of the cops
who looked like he
was in charge if he
knew my father
he said, yeah,
& it looks like
you are following
in his footsteps.
they put me back
in the cell, still naked.
some time later
they gave me my clothes
& drove me to the
juvenile jail
in Toms River
That was the worst acid trip I ever had
When I was a teenager
I hated cops
& used to spit on them
when I was drunk
my father was my first
drinking buddy
we smoked pot together too
he liked fords for some reason
had several 1965 mustangs
& a few falcons (a 1960 w/ 3 on the tree)
but mostly he drove dodge darts
everybody drank & drove back then
the cops would take yr car keys
tell you to sleep it off
in the backseat
come back a few hours later
at the end of their shift
& give ya your keys back
once me & my dad
& a bunch of our friends
as many as could fit in the backseat
got pulled over by a cop
in the pine barrens
I had been in a black out
the last thing I remembered
was being at a party in the afternoon
all of a sudden it was night time
& we were all standing
on the side of route 70
with the red lights revolving
into the trees around us
there were 2 or 3 cops
“Dover Rovers” we called them
on account they were from Dover Township
one of them questioned me
asked for ID & when he
was done, moved on to one of
our friends who was standing
next to me. they had us
all lined up in a row against
one of the police cars
one of the gals
had a big bag of potato chips
I stuck my hand in the bag
& stuffed a bunch of
chips in my mouth,
chewed them up,
filling my cheeks
like a chipmunk.
I tapped on the cop’s shoulder
when he turned to look at me
I sprayed the potato chips
in his face in a long
continuous spray
all of my friends laughed
& the cops handcuffed me
& threw me in the back
of the police car
my dad was already back there
his hands cuffed behind his back
Ya gotta stop spitting on cops Davey,
he said, one of these times
one of em might kill you.
my step-father Storm
picked me up from the jail
in Whiting
I was only 15 so they
released me into his custody
we didn’t speak on the drive home
(I think they took my dad to ocean county jail)
As we walked into the living room
Saturday Night Live was on TV
& the Grateful Dead were playing
Bob Weir was wearing bunny ears
It was Saturday April 5, 1980,
the night before Easter
Another Time / Another Traffic Stop
another summer night
coming out of a blackout
being questioned by the police
my hands cuffed behind my back
cop says blow in my face
(he wanted to see if he could
smell alcohol on my breath)
I twisted my mouth
into a sarcastic smile
my friends burst out laughing
the cop kicked my legs
out from under me
& I landed on my back
on the asphalt
my father yelled
Don’t you fuckin’ touch him!
& lunged toward the cops
but they already
had him constrained
Poem For The Police at Seaside Heights
At sixteen I was arrested
for spitting on a policeman’s shoes.
A copy of Allen Ginsberg’s Planet News
in my back pocket.
They called me the philosopher king
and applied several tactics of intimidation.
They stripped me naked & threw me in a cell.
I had planned on traveling to Tennessee
to visit Stephen Gaskin’s Farm.
I wouldn’t have lasted a week;
Drug addicts make terrible hippies.
Angry young men make bad lovers.
Life is so much better,
since I’ve been off booze.
Bio: Dave Roskos is the editor of Big Hammer Magazine & Iniquity Press/Vendetta Books. Currently editing a mag called Street Value, a print zine which is online at: www.outlawlibrary.blogspot.com He works as a life skills specialist for a non-profit independent housing program for folks recovering from mental illness & addiction.
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