Lyrical Insight on a Greasy Monkey’s 4th of July Bash…
4th of July
At Carpenter Avenue on the 4th of July
we really had a ball.
And do you know the reason why?
The answer is simple,
The truth lies bare,
It all boiled down to the people who were there.
There was Foster the Flea
With a sense of occasion,
Anna and Adele dancing in formation,
Kent doing Yoga,
Tony staying cool
Curt trying hard to keep every rule,
Adhere to his contract,
Keep out of trouble,
Keep the music coming and drink Buds at the double.
Tom leaps the tiki
Like a man possessed.
He may have singed his you-know-what
But he gave it his best.
Rodney turns up late
(with his partner in tow)
He brings news of Major
He’s always in the know.
Linda’s cooking kebabs
(Alas, the Brinkman’s last)
It’s done a great job for the three years past.
Scott’s giving cuddles,
British Linda’s feeling fine.
Bab’s looking hungry-
Feels its her turn to dine.
Jen’s potato salad
Makes quite an impression.
Marty wonders why he’s
In a funeral procession.
David’s, on camera, stands back
And films it all.
Now you’ve got to admit it
We DID have a ball.
Tiki Tom
Mid-West Tom with neck of palest pink
Plays devils advocate – the party swings.
Will leap a flame before an eye can blink,
Composes poetry, tells jokes and sings.
Have we amongst us a Renaissance man?
His gifts are boundless – he instructs the young,
Emotes on film and puts it in the can.
His Franklin yet may set him on the map
To stardom and a future paved with gold.
His strength is legend – call him to move house!
Imagination, heart and muscle rolled
Into one perfect whole – Like Mighty Mouse.
The modesty of this man will amaze.
With gay abandon he shrugs off our praise.
On July 4th 1995 We buried a dear friend, in my backyard. The Brinkman Smoker, finally cooked its last Barbecue. Worn out and tired, its grills and pans were wearing away. So we buried it proper New Orleans style, at the end of that day.
– Foster Johnson
The Brinkman Funeral
When Foster Johnson bids a friend farewell
He pulls out all the stops and raises Cain.
The neighbours say he’ll surely go to hell,
Not realizing how he deals with pain
With friends to succour him and share in his grief
He bids the Brinkman one last fond goodbye,
Remembering all those juicy chunks of beef,
With special homage paid to old Rib-Eye.
A barbecuing chef without compare,
FJ is now bereft of his mainstay,
So ritual acts like giving spit and hair
Enable him to bear this dreadful day.
Brave Foster Johnson swears he wont be beat
If time hangs heavy he can always beat his meat.
C.W.
Curt Walheim – here my hand should stay its task
A mighty man in Old World and New.
Who can interpret – penetrate the mask
of clown which hides an intellect that few
Possess? This man is magic!
See him do The Worm – strain every fibre in the dance.
Observe him share his life-style with a true
Maganimity. Give him but a chance
And he will rustle up effects the like
You never saw. Pyrotechnics pose no
Risk for him. Olympian games merely psyche
Him up to better things. It’s Go Man, Go!
Creative talent such as this is bare –
Forgive his peccadillos or beware.
Evelyn Hunter
July 1995