The Hare Krishna Hunters
There’s a herd of white dudes in the middle of Tompkins Square Park shaking bells and chanting the Hare Krishna over and over again.
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare
Each of them has on blue jeans, a Carhartt jacket, and a blaze orange beanie. I’m not sure what god they are after. It looks like my dad and his deer-hunting buddies got banished to New York. I figure they are blessing the rut or pining for an eight-point buck to stumble into the Lower East Side.
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna
Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama
Rama Rama Hare Hare
I’m sitting on a bench, deciding whether to eat dinner or have a beer or six. I look up into a tree and wonder what Dad is doing, whether he’s having beers or dinner. I hum a mantra of my own. I learned it from Willie Nelson.
Well I got to get drunk and I sure do dread it
Because I know just what I'm going to do
I'll start to spend my money calling everybody honey
And I'll wind up singing the blues
I finish my mantra. My phone buzzes. It’s Dad.