Romancing the 60’s: with lines from Charles Bukowski by Alan Catlin

The weekends that began earlier each week
      and ended later;
the new drugs and the old, turning on,
      dropping out, going more than a
      little crazy;
the war that never seemed to end and our
      friends who went to fight and
      never came back;
their letters in a shoebox with the rolling
      papers and the love beads, black arm
      bands with peace signs, draft notices
      to appear;
risk taking on the highways, everyone behind
      the wheel A Rebel Without a Cause,
      a Wild One with no sense of direction,
      a MASH unit in a snow bank, dead
      of winter, blood rock and frostbite;
shooting pool in some redneck bar on the edge
      of Deliverance not afraid to die;
stoned crazy to acid rock, 8 miles high and falling
      fast, writing it all down and forgetting
      how to read;
The White Album and the Number 9;
Our Lady of Gone Tomorrows,  ex-decalced nun
      with a tambourine and a jug of California
      white, collecting quarters to buy a map back
      home, to find the key to the Lost Silver Mines
      of nowhere;
Helter Skelter and the zombie chicks from Hell;
A bad trip, a bummer, run, run the Homecoming
      Queen’s got a gun;
Pistol Pete and the tail gunner geek killing machine
      living next door, out of uniform but not out
      of the jungle and he doesn’t know what to do;
“it was a romantic grand game then, full of the fury
      of discovery” Bukowski would say.

Alan Catlin
Alan Catlin is the poetry editor of misfitmagazine.net. His latest books of poetry are American Odyssey from Future Cycle and Last Man Standing from Lummox Press
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