Manuel Is A Beatnik Poem by Michael Speakman

Manuel is a Beatnik,
His 'kicks' are in:
Marijuana,
Free love, man,
And a poetry work shop Wednesday evening...

Black as a berry,
Sporting a goatee,
A cigarette holder,
A ring on each finger,
It´s his turn, now,
'Existentialist Burn'
By Manuel Garcia,
The class jeer(! ?) ,
At line nine-
'Don´t be mean to a Bohemian,
For, who can know, the unknown...'
They can, apparently...
He hitches back his beret...

Later, in the cafe,
He check-mates his Grandmother,
In three..
This display of melancholy,
Prompts her to say,
That he looks like a young James Dean..

In bed and dreaming,
He is another GARCIA-LORCA,
Adoration and respect,
Women and intellectuals,
Wealth..
His untimely death,
An out-pouring of national emotion..

He wakes kissing his teddy-bear, PUSHKIN,
But, in his brain, a very first line,
The germ of inspiration,
Tomorrow can not come too soon..