hope was here.

Ball & Chain Record Store

Someone came into the ball and chain
record store I work at
and said no bags
a waste of plastic.

I said yes.
You must be a granola-eating, left-wing,
dig-gothic, post-modernist, watch a lot
of Billy Jack movies, Arlo Guthrie type.

He said yes.
I smiled.
I dream of Tom Waits fingerpainting
lightbulbs on my holiday wreath
and I'm Jewish, pretty weird huh?
I celebrate Tiny Tim's birthday
with a parade of dancing deadheads
some who never sleep and some
who never go to the bathroom.

His T-shirt said have you hugged
a rainforest today?

I said I love the planet
but it's unrequited love.

He told me babe, you're bringing me down.
When I was born my first word was ohmmmm...

In kindergarten I organized the pacifists
to demand we didn't have to read
from Dick, Jane, and Spot books.
Too generic.
I demanded we get American Indians
to talk about what's real.
And I gave them my nap mat
cause it's their land and
I gave them my peanut butter
and jelly sandwich cause
the buffalo have been murdered
and they need protein.

He blushed with passion and said
tell me you.

Well, the first 15 years of my life
I thought Barry Manilow was a sex symbol.
Needless to say I got a sort of late start
at being at one with the cosmic heartbeat.

He gave me one of those looks
like I better get this girl
some Jack Kerouac books to read fast
before she suffers the confusion
of not knowing there's other existences
beside the banal.

I put my hands on my hips and squealed
I read On the Road
and the letters of Allen Ginsberg to Neal Cassady
and vice versa.

He said on Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday
I'm a part time Marxist.

He took out a beanie
put it on his head
and began to chant.
This definitely turned me on.
All of a sudden he began to sing
the minimum wage workers' song
"the walls are full of faces
the mini-malls are full of neon
the bitter bite the hands that feed them
the food is a mixture of bone, blood
and snails
man is a cannibal."

I said wow! you are the sort of guy
who says right on and really means it.
You probably only drink the milk
of socially conscious cows
who voted Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young
for president.

He screamed, oh chick, my life changed
in 1962 when I realized the Constitution
was written without women, blacks, indians,
and poor white men in mind,
That was not o.k.

I became the Jackson Pollack of feminism.
I threw paint of outrage everywhere.
I was a man who identified
with Billie Holiday and Ernest Hemingway.
I was a traveler.

So what brings you into this
San Fernando Valley air conditioned
intellectually malnourished record store
with the exactlys?
We open exactly at 10:00
Close exactly at 10:00
No matter what our karma
Damn it's so crass,
you can't even rent The Last Waltz here.

He said I'm in a competitive mantra makers
bowling league.
We have weavers, chess players,
avant-garde stamp collectors
and Hell's Angels
inventors all.
We bowl whenever the fuck
the spirit moves us.
With any luck we'll be playing the
New Age/lawyers/used car salesman league
again real soon.

Hippies and New Age people are like
the difference between Bob Dylan and Bob Hope.

He smiled and said do you want to bowl?
We are definitely into strikes
for the betterment of the worker.
We need someone who looks
like she could walk into the woods
and find incense without getting poison ivy.
You look like Van Morrison
when you pout your lips.
You could be a part of the father, son, and
the holy ghost meshuganeh athletic league.
Besides I love you.

I started to weep.
Tears of Bas Mitzvah cake
and tears of being the last kid picked
for field hockey in gym class.
Authentic tears.
Nobody ever said all that to me before.
I guess I kind of do have Van Morrison's mouth.
Why hadn't anybody ever noticed?

I said I love you.
But every free moment I moonlight at
Hairy Krishna Organic Coiffures
and Tea Salon.
We use
no chemicals
no dye
no sprays
no combs
no brushes
Hell, you look pretty much the same going out
as going in.

He said what's a nice girl like you doing
living in a Republican administration like this?

The manager of the record store comes over and says
You know the movie Farenheit 451?
Corporate has ordered us to burn it.
Get to it!
Don't give me your damn whimpering
Joan of Arc eyes.
Lots of people would love to have your job.
I screamed pig! PIG!
You are giving barnyard animals a bad name.
Cops are Pigs!
Intolerants are Pigs!
Bigots are Pigs!
Everybody who does it and says
they're just doing their job is a Pig!
Everybody who does it to somebody else
knows what they are.

This is my first day at the record store.
I guess if they want to have a quiet
complacent yes sir type of employee
they ought to ask different questions
on the application.

Like do you conform?
Like do you care that this is stolen land?
Like do you believe in playlists?
Like do you believe in yourself?
Do you mind waking up alone
rather than being beat up with fists?
Do you see the government is beating us up
as bad as a knife in our elbows
as bad as a slur in our ears
as bad as a rape
when we just wanted to be held

And all they ask is
can you work part-time?
and what days can't you work?
and they say whom do we contact
in an emergency?
I said
cause you need to ask that
constitutes an emergency.

The hippie said my name is Hell's Bells
but you can call me hope.
He said I dug you.
Now I dig your whole being.
It's strange,
No matter how many nights I wake up unhappy
there is still a possibility of rising
into a change so easily.
The outlaw lives in a world where
when he sees a mirror he sees a hero.
And all heroes put their bellbottoms on
one leg at a time.

Let's face it,
How can you trust money when
there are politicians' faces printed on it.
Money is sexist.
The only woman on so-called American currency
which is really Turtle Island to the Indians
is Susan B. Anthony and they stopped making those
real fast.

Is money worth killing for?
Is money worth killing for?

I ran through the store singing
about William Blake's eyebrows
and Walt Whitman's bellybutton
saying everything is alive
and everything is sort of adorable.
I took paperclips and gave them
to loving vegetarian families
who needed someone.

I took the bathroom sink and gave it a hug.
I freed all the rubberbands!
And I said to all the plastic bags
I will never burden you
with films weighing you down,
Perry Como cassettes,
or even a piece of Jerry Garcia's beard.
Well maybe.

But I will never staple a bag
for you brought love.

Most people tell me
it was all the pop tarts I ate.
Some people tell me
it was because I was a liar.
And I said I'm too honest
to be anybody's best friend
But at times nobody believes
this hippie ever even came by.

There are
no lingering peace signs
no incense
no tea bags
no fuck the fuckers pamphlets
Yet I still can't even believe
Abbie Hoffman is dead.
So my strengths and pains
are in my sense of wonder.
All I know is I don't believe in
wearing sandals and argyle socks together.
And when I needed it most, hope was here.
Change must not be too far behind.



-Ellyn Maybe