A barefoot freak parade meanders
from beachfront to Capitola
where it is perpetually 1970.
Hippie girls, braless under tie-dyed tee shirts,
emerge from psychedelic VW busses,
crowd the boardwalk, ankle bells tinkling,
exuding patchouli.
Reggae music and the smell of dope
permeate every corner.
Blonde surfer boys suck down ganja,
wax their boards, impress tattooed groupies.
I see my past self, a skinny chick
in flip flops, dangling earrings,
ass-length hair, signature tank top.
Former Students for a Democratic Society,
hang with LSD pioneers at the Saturn Café.
We sip chai or herbal tea, a graying
collection of once- radical drop-outs
washed ashore from the turbulent 60’s.
We’ve replaced acid and hash with
Prilosec, Celebrex, Prozac,
don’t share mattresses or tantric sex
with each other’s lovers.
These days, we gather and bitch
like every generation before us,
describe the enlightened utopia
of health, happiness and harmony
we could create and inhabit,
if we weren’t on fixed incomes
and so damned exhausted.
from beachfront to Capitola
where it is perpetually 1970.
Hippie girls, braless under tie-dyed tee shirts,
emerge from psychedelic VW busses,
crowd the boardwalk, ankle bells tinkling,
exuding patchouli.
Reggae music and the smell of dope
permeate every corner.
Blonde surfer boys suck down ganja,
wax their boards, impress tattooed groupies.
I see my past self, a skinny chick
in flip flops, dangling earrings,
ass-length hair, signature tank top.
Former Students for a Democratic Society,
hang with LSD pioneers at the Saturn Café.
We sip chai or herbal tea, a graying
collection of once- radical drop-outs
washed ashore from the turbulent 60’s.
We’ve replaced acid and hash with
Prilosec, Celebrex, Prozac,
don’t share mattresses or tantric sex
with each other’s lovers.
These days, we gather and bitch
like every generation before us,
describe the enlightened utopia
of health, happiness and harmony
we could create and inhabit,
if we weren’t on fixed incomes
and so damned exhausted.
