King of the Jungle

At six years old I am not aware of the exact

implications of the word stroke.

And when you sit me on the bottom of the

oak staircase with the wrought iron banister

I can see that you have been sobbing and your

fear at 32 is more intense than any of mine.

I do not know exactly what was said during that

phone call, only that it was spoken by my grandmother

from an emergency room somewhere and heard in front

of a glowing kitchen window on a phone old

enough to have a curly cord and that it is

the hottest part of the summer and we’ve just

been to the zoo to ride the carousel and see the

lions. And that when it is finally relayed to

me I do not understand the change of life it

will imply or how unfair it is to keep a

lion in a Midwestern zoo confined to a glass

enclosure, pacing the same worn spots, gawked

at, its majesty doctored and forgotten.

Janis Joplin on the Festival Express

You ever get drunk on a train

through four cities in less than twice

as many days? Well, when you got

eleven cars and just as many bands

riding along and it's the heat of the 

summer and it's that beautiful part

of Canada between Winnipeg and

Calgary and you just saw what

Toronto had going on-- I tell you

what you're gonna do: you're gonna

drink on that train. And you're 

gonna go down to the car where

everybody's got their guitars out

and you're gonna forget-- when you

see the Grateful Dead and The Band

jamming with Buddy Guy-- that it 

ain't been more than 5 or 6 years

since we got the good sense to start

eating in the same diners and

pissing in the same toilets.

And you'd get drunk too if you

heard that some thousand kids

decided to storm the gates at the

next stop and goddamn you 

if you didn't know you had to

let those kids hear you for free

and if only I knew that I'd 

be dead by October-- but it's

Summertime, child, and your

living is easy.