There Used to Be Coffee Shops on the Way to OZ

There used to be coffee shops,

In buildings now disguised as therapy offices.

There used to be sleazy lingerie stores,

In a building now converted into fancy drinking halls.

The Barmuda triangle had a substance abuse group that met in the basement on Wednesday nights.

We used to drink 40's in alleyways and pee behind dumpsters at gay bars.

We walked these streets without fear.

We found adventures in daily living.

We found pool tables at Christian Coffeehouses, with punk rock shows on Fridays.

We found comfort in exposed brick walls and leather sofas that sank when you sat on them.

There were stacks of magazines in baskets made of bones.

We read them for entertainment.

Everything was so simple back then.

I dyed my hair cotton candy pink for fun.

I looked like a gothic Barbie Doll.

I stuck out, yet I fitted in.

I sold shoes all day and listened to bands play all night.

I made friends with Arnold Friend, the 50's guy and a clone of Elvis who was in a shockabilly band.

I wore a blue dress with red shoes like I was Dorothy.

Maybe I was in Oz?

Or at least my own personal coffee shop version of Oz.

Oz is a place you visit each night where everyone knows your name.

A place you can hang out until three am with an unlikely bunch of characters that somehow fit together flawlessly.

Where Goths and hippies smoke pot upstairs,

And Italian Sodas are served in mason jars.

It's more a feeling than a place.

Several places come to mind.

These were the years before the bar scene.

The social years of my youth.

Where I was looking for conversation,

But hiding from vampires under the table.

The misfits of society fit in.

A Vietnamese drug addict wrote the most beautiful poetry and always bummed cigarettes off me.

He had a sweet soul and a special kindness to him.

This is what I found at the end of the rainbow,

A pot of life experience.

Coffee shops open late at night for the youth of Michigan to gather at.

I found these places on the way to OZ.

On the way to my own enlightenment.

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This poem is featured in the poetry collection "Passing Skeletons".

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