Chicago - Mar. 19, 2022
Music TV Politics Sports Books People Places & Things
Beachwood PP&T
Our monthly PP&T archive.
Rhymes for the Times.
Beachwood Bookmarks
So You've Decided To Be Evil
Vintage Beer Signs
Easy Bar Tricks
Best of Craigslist
Wacky Packages
Taquitos Snack Food Reviews
How Products Are Made
Everyday Mysteries
Chicago Zombie
Texts From Last Night
Fuck My Life
Awkward Family Photos
Ultra Local Geography
Best Pinball Machine Ever
Land of Sky Beer Waters
Calumet 412
Chicago Patterns
Vince Michael's Time Tells
Renegades of Funk Chicago
History vs. Hollywood

Chicagoetry: Spur


"There are two kinds of spurs
In this world, my friend:
Those that come in through the door
And those that come in

Through the window."

He was a Rat,
But he had some skills,
So we partnered up
To do some business.

When he betrayed me,
I left him to die
In the desert

Where even the rain burns.

But he utilized
All the stock maneuvers
Of the Digital Revolution

To track me down.
He came in through
The bathroom window.

I heard the spurs
Go jingle-jangle-jingle.

I'd let my guard down
And was vulnerable, so
To the Rat

I was candy. Then

He left me
To die
In the desert.

I had to find a way
To survive.

I had a reputation
For keeping my pistols clean,
A reputation that, over time,
Acquired a modest gleam.

I perhaps became
Too recognizable: Stetson
Hat, short cheroot,

Mexican poncho.

I was good, I was bad,
I was ugly.

I had skills.

But I had no clue
I'd earned so many "friends,"
Whose "admiration"

Curdled to envy
As my legend spread.

And envy
Put in action
Is a stone-cold killer,

Especially coming from
Long-lost chums
After the same till.

Then, in a relatively simple
Twist of fate,

The Rat realized there was more
In it for him
If he kept me alive.

Lo: it was all
About him.

He hoped
I'd forget
He was the first

To betray,
Insult compounding
The injury.

Kid: they
Fuck you over
Then count on you

Hoping they can
Do it again.

It's ugly stuff,
But best learned hard
In the burning rain.

Yo: then Ju-Ju Eyeball
Smelled the boiling blood

And couldn't help
But join the fray.

I sure remember Ju-Ju:
Old School all the way,
A knife-sharp

Holy Roller with a radar
For loot, mojo filter
On his short cheroot.

When he was paid
To do a job
He did the job.

Ju-Ju was dread.

I had some measured respect
For the Rat

(Wide sombrero,
Pistol on a string),

Which complicated the issue,

But Ju-Ju Eyeball
Was always too hard
For his own good,

Couldn't help
But join the fray.
He was easy, because

I always
Hated his guts

I meant to survive.
Hard lessons learned
In the burning rain;

Of course
Time's best guru
Is the reverend pain.

It won't suffice just
To take it from me, but
One thing I can tell you is

You got to be free.

When the showdown came,
I'd honed my game:

Ju-Ju was candy.

Lo: the price
Of an education
Gets steeper by the year,

But that,
And pure will,
Have sharpened

My ear.

I listen
For spurs
In my sleep.


J.J. Tindall is the Beachwood's poet-in-residence. He welcomes your comments. Chicagoetry is an exclusive Beachwood collection-in-progress.


More Tindall:

* Chicagoetry: The Book

* Ready To Rock: The Music

* Kindled Tindall: The Novel

* The Viral Video: The Match Game Dance


Posted on September 13, 2015

MUSIC - Chief Keef Changed The Industry.
TV - Vizio's Best Product Is You.
POLITICS - UIC: Soda Taxes Work.
SPORTS - More McCaskey Malpractice.

BOOKS - All About Poop.


Search The Beachwood Reporter

Subscribe To Our Newsletter

Follow BeachwoodReport on Twitter

Beachwood Radio!