The difference between the puckawalla and our gang
Puckawalla he talks a good game, what’s true is true
But he just doesn’t know what to do
Our gang invites “come take some ‘haribol jal’ on this sumo wrestler day
Listen to the rug-rat-village children play
there’s haribol jal on this sumo wrestler day
Puckawala’s worried if the offering’s just a little late
And he’s looking to avoid our nonsense talk
Sunny afternoon and his cell phone is ringing
As us crazy riksawallas go drifting by
There’s haribol jal on a sumo wrestler day
Malawallas are dreaming of a better life
Where leis are of gardenias donated freely by the campa hatti’s wife
Better than the roses of todays that have slipped down the string
Gecko and I head off to see the spacey highway and one of the conductors asks, “Are you hiding?” “Yes” is the reply “well come on in!”
Seeing friends there looking at the clock there is time to play. Taking the exit at Soquel creek down into the village where the tourists are visiting the shops for souvenirs. Up to the path along the beach pointing to the hook where the cruisers go. The harbor is empty and the natasala is waiting till Friday for the next show. Turn the corner to the cruiser king and then to the treacherous triangle where leave is taken. Back between the lakes and the sufferers are huddled around bon fires in the cool of the evening.
The windmill is very dark. Spinning along to the soccer pitch finding the wharf road empty I sprint to make the main street. “Wow look at that taxi” I shout ahead to Gecko, “it has flags on the bull horns on the hood” “Wild” he replies with a laugh. The long and winding takes me to the ratha-bhojana-vrksa to fold my palms and he to the shop. Hammering I make it in just in time to speak with Bhakta Blade who is picking flowers for the ceremony that’s about to begin.
“Whoa” Bhakta Blade says as I come in for the evening dressing. “I thought you were el Siddhamuni. He was just talking to me and you came in so silently when I looked around I thought he had come in” “that would be a shock wouldn’t it?” I asked. “I saw a few ‘O deer does’ this evening” Bhakta Blade says as the Deities get into that nightdress. “they were in the compost.” “yes I saw some down in the back forty. A doe and her fawn” “That’s what you call a baby deer!” he says. “I thought it was “dawn” but you said “fawn” and I knew that was right” by now the clock has struck the hour and the Thakuras get into bed as I wipe the floor and sing an evening song.