jimmy vs. technology
about once a week
jimmy comes down from the adult group home
he’s always got his guitar slung over his shoulder
like he’s come back from rehearsal or a gig
his long, gray hair is held back by a sea foam bandana
that has seen better days
it’s like jimmy
every time he’s in its reinventing the wheel
he can’t remember his password
can’t figure out how to make the internet work
doesn’t remember his yahoo! mail account
i say, jimmy why are you still doing yahoo!
i want to be up to date, man, he says
jimmy once asked me if i played guitar
because i have long hair like he does
and it’s kind of going gray
no, i told him…i chose a lesser art
jimmy has the worst trouble with the copy machine
i can’t blame him
the thing can email and fax and send text messages
it’s a bit daunting for a guy who just needs to copy
his legal and medical papers
when he’s in the building i know it’s only a matter of time
before jimmy and i will both be at the copier
testing our technological limits
that’s usually when jimmy
will go on about the adult home
how bad the food is
how horrible it is being locked inside and incapable
they treat you like
you’re nothing there, man, he says
i try to picture jimmy in the adult home
grateful dead t-shirt and hendrix on his turntable
faded jeans and the green field jacket he’s always wearing
nurses checking to make sure he’s taking his pills
the baby boomers have instilled such an image of youth
it’s hard to imagine them getting old and feeble
that all of that 1960s idealism is rotting
in institutions made for assembly line death
but jimmy is walking talking proof that life is moving on
once i’m there we get the copies made quickly
it’s usually jimmy’s social security card and his benefits
i.d.
you always help me out, man, he says
like he’s surprised
like i’m not getting paid for this
i wish i could give you something, brother
like a bag of barbecue chips from my illegal stash
because jimmy is still sticking it to the man
do you want some barbecue chips?
jimmy pulls out a half-eaten bag of wise
no, i say
i settle for a handshake instead
then jimmy leaves because he’s thirsty
i watch him go across the street to the bodega
a moment later he comes out with a 20oz. coke
bends his knees like he’s playing a guitar solo
when he takes his first sip
wipes the caramel color from his mouth
before he walks off toward the promised land.
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