Hitchhiker Dream With Beatles

illustration hitchhiker dream with beatles

Hitchhiker Dream With Beatles


Driving 70 miles an hour, I noticed two young men

walking down the side of the highway.  One caught my eye —

tall, lean, broad-shouldered, his thick hair flashing


bright in the harsh summer light.  Not knowing why, or how,

the two came to be there, I pulled over.  The blond

wanted to drive, the other sat next to him:


I, now a passenger, leaned in from the back seat,

asking Beatles questions.  How did Paul meet John, anyway?

What was the first date they sat down together


to write a song?  What exactly were they wearing

at the time?  No answers forthcoming — but I told the men

not to worry, I’d happily fill in the details.


Paul had on a twill safari jacket, I said, and John wore

an ugly plaid blazer.  It was late fall; the rusty leaves

twirled on their branches like pinwheels, and Paul was in love.


His girl, Peggy, was tall, full-breasted, and her hair

was black, curly, down to her waist.  John was terribly shy

with women, a bit jealous of Paul; soon enough John found fault


with the girl — her face was uninspiring, her nose crooked.

John was right; Paul gave her up.  Peggy married

the next man who asked her, divorced him in a year.


She’s on the dole now, lives with her mother,

who’s a real bitch and a half; won’t wear her teeth

or her hearing aid, loves to drive poor, lonely Peggy berserk.

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