Poetry of my 21st year

So I'm SUPPOSED to be writing my novel but I got side tracked by the folder called Documents OC (OC = Old Computer) and in there I noticed something called summervacation.doc so i had to look at it and it's a poem both from and about the exact era that one of my maybe novels is about and it made me feel all warm and happy inside just reading so i have decided to ignore its dubious quality and share it with you, dear reader(s), you lucky devil(s)

What I Did Over My Summer Vacation

Sometimes,

we would sit on the front stoop

and drink cheap beer,

discuss Jeff’s scar

and how it turns a darker red

with each beer.

And sometimes,

we would sit on the ledge

blowing bubbles

at the pedestrians

waiting for the looks on their faces.

And sometimes,

I would sit on the couch

and wait for the buses to drive by

wait for the way the building shakes

there’s something about that.

And sometimes

I would just stand on the sidewalk

right near the spot

where someone wrote BUDDHA

and I would let my feet

just feel

the pulse that courses thru the pavement

the hum from the cars and people

the stench from the incinerator

that I’ve finally gotten used to

and it would make me feel so alive

that I was close to crying

and I would thank my stars

the lucky and unlucky ones

that I made this move out of suburbia

because grass doesn’t know how to feel like that

it’s too soft

it absorbs the shock of the world

the white picket fences

keep life at bay

and nothing ever touches you

the pavement

the asphalt

passes it straight into your bones

and once it’s hit

you never want to lose it.

Pavement can be addictive

I swear to you it can.

And sometimes

I napped in the afternoon

the sirens and yelling people

lullabied me to sleep

as a thin layer of sweat

covered me in its

almost uncomfortable warmth

and I felt happy with my lot.

Yeah, I was reading a fair amount of Kerouac and ginsberg at the time, why do you ask?