Shots were fired in Dallas
three years before I was born
one of the Baby Busters
middle child
misfit
too young for Studio 54
too old for a mosh pit.
Raised on a steady diet of
television and Tang.
Vietnam was a series of
black & white images
while drawing with crayons.
Watergate was background noise
while eating TV dinners.
Lying on our bellies
chins resting in our hands
we waited every Sunday
for Tinkerbell to let us in
to Disney’s wonderful world.
We carried The Force
in our back pockets and
lived the Wonder Years
on a white Huffy with the banana seat-
nobody had a helmet
everybody had a latchkey.
After school
we watched the Brady Bunch
dreamed of Walton's Mountain
and grieved for the perfect family.
We never wore saddle shoes
or poodle skirts
nose rings or bellybutton things.
Individuality was our conformity.
We were there when Disco
drew its last breath
and gave birth to
the MTV Generation.
We saw the Berlin Wall
crumble like Jericho
and watched the Gulf War
from a comfortable chair
with a bag of microwave popcorn.
We remember when
OJ Simpson was a hero
Michael Jackson was cool
and Madonna was hot.
We learned that despite superstition
and social panic
one millennium ends seamlessly
where another begins.
We wish we could believe
that love is all you need.
We thought we buried bigotry
in a time capsule
with a can of Aquanet and a
Band-Aid cassette
but someone dug it up
to build another tower.
A graduate degree is
no longer our guarantee.
Over-educated and under-employed
Baby Boomers clog
the arteries of upward mobility.
Busters work two McJobs
and still can’t pay the rent.
The Me Generation vs. the
Why Me? Generation
more likely to see a UFO
than a social security check.
Paralyzed by our inheritance:
racial strife, homelessness
fractured families and federal deficits.
Caught between a thong
and Depends.
____________________________
Wilted
He found me
like a wild rose
on the roadside
I was thumbin’ my way to work.
He was a clinging vine;
transplanted himself into my world.
Soon we were tangled together
around a picket fence dream.
We couldn’t afford to paint that fence white
even with me working two jobs
it stayed that gray shade
of weathered wood.
But who needs fresh paint anyway?
He had his cigarettes,
I had my kaleidoscope,
and we read Xaviera Hollander together.
After the children were born
he acted like the world was a slot machine
and it was somehow my fault
it wouldn’t come up all cherries.
And I made lots of
lemonade from all those
lemons he brought home
but he would only drink gourmet coffee.
I think of him often now,
and sharply,
like when I pretend his neck
is the rose stem I am clipping.
There are times I want to shred
the leather jacket he forgot to take
and turn every photo of him left
into confetti
but my memory softens
with an old song
and soon I need both hands
just to hold my heart together.
Now I know what it means
to give someone your youth.
Twenty-one years of my life
washed away, roots left exposed.
Just tell me please,
how does a flower on the roadside
catch someone’s eye
when it’s already begun to wilt?
-----------------------------------------
Full Circle
When you left
I didn't eat
or sleep
for nine days.
I just curled-up on the floor
and cried to Air Supply.
If it wasn't for our boys
I would have stayed there.
When I see you now
it still feels natural
to reach for you.
I catch myself
just before I rest my hand
on your shoulder
or your thigh...
"You played me like a harp"
or "you read me like braille"
are both cliché
and we were never trite.
We were a wild horse stampede.
The thought of never holding you again
puts me in the fetal position
pillow hugged to my chest.
My mind spirals
through old conversations
looking for answers
but when I reach for moments past
the colors
they bleed and run.
I know,
I'm repeating myself
again
but, I'm tired
and you're leading me in circles.
Not all circles are round- like
the string of chance
that brought us together, or
these sinuous threads
of arteries and veins
pulsing
to and from the heart
you gave back to me.
I finally realize
you're looking for happiness in coffee shops
instead of looking inside yourself
and you've stopped listening to me.
How long will it take
to write you out of my system?
I think I'll drive into the desert tonight
sing to Air Supply on the car stereo
watch the sky and
allow the vastness
to make my sadness
seem small.
------------------------------------------------
Lessons from the Sky
It's been a taffy pull year and a half
time stretched
resources stretched
sanity stretched.
I feel like water gathered
in an old tire
as days trickle downhill.
It's tough to move on
when the whole world is in a time out
but I'm getting to a place
where I like myself again.
Still, time feels like a toy
lost in childhood.
I've spent so much of it
reading the horizon
watching clouds drift.
I don't care what those
scientific studies say
chocolate kisses
don't make me feel loved.
I'm okay being alone
never needed anybody to
complete me, but
just once
it would be nice
to have someone
toss pebbles at my window
someone to share poetry and music with
explore science and Shakespeare with
someone with whom I can
match wits.
I wasted too many years with a man
who never heard my heart
so I am taking lessons from the sky
on how to rewrite myself
and pull some beauty
out of the pain.
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Srgnt First Class
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