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Me and the 58,000 and Other Poems

me-and-the-58-000-and-other-poems

Me and the 58,000

The date, the date

was ‘68

The party’s started

and I was late


The world divided

by the length of our hair

in ‘68

I was so square


A generation yelled

kill them all

While their children

protested on

the National Mall


Some decided

this is not our war

When the party started

They bolted toward the door

Crossed the border

Americans no more


Thousands protested

carrying signs,

‘Make Love, Not War’

While the war machine

Said, ‘give us your poor’


Reading, Reader’s Digest

watching long hairs protest

How’d we get in

this stink’n mess


Drinking chocolate milk shakes

no idea what is at stake

The party started

and I was late

the date, the date was ‘68


Now with buddies

in the jungle

The news showed it’s not

a West Side Story rumble


Learning how not to stare

All the girls with legs so bare

The boys at home were big flirts

Chasing girls in short skirts


The party started

and I was late

the date, the date was ‘68


The government sent out invitations,

Said, I’d wear green and eat k-rations


Drinking chocolate milk shakes

no idea what is at stake

The party started

and I was late

the date, the date was ‘68


Many boys were crying

And many men were dying

The world divided

by the length of our hair

The party’d started

and I was late

me-and-the-58-000-and-other-poems

A Homeless Mind


A cat walks across three stories Leaving tracks up one arm and down another like a vein looking for a heart like a steel lock looking for a warm cock crowing on another empty morning Sleeping on the sidewalk at two o’clock chased from the park long before dark a homeless mind no place to go nothing to show a fleeting life like tracks on the snow

me-and-the-58-000-and-other-poems

Empty Plates

There comes a day of empty plates

Chairs won't scrape the floor

Pans won't stack, three pots high

No voice will ask for more

...

Potatoes wither on the ground

And the gravy boats will gather dust

There are no biscuits set to rise

And no one cares to make a fuss

...

No need to polish goblets

Or hold them to the light

Or fill them with sweet nectar

For everyone’s delight

...

The clock ticks in the kitchen

For those with uncleaned slates

Call it luck or fate or destiny

There comes a day of empty plates

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