Today I tried to get away,
Escape my troubles as they say.
Broken hearted, broken body,
and now the thinnest wallet,
Thanks to my mad parking skills,
Imperfection is the target of tickets.
I’d wandered to San Francisco.
To the most artsy place–the Haight.
It draws always on my heart.
Its history drew me out here,
Made me dream as a kid,
Of some brave life filled up,
By activism, art, and freedom.
Oh, how we fall short of our dreams,
But occasionally get to taste.
Today the traffic overflowed,
Both on foot and vehicle.
The hippies had invaded,
Gathering by the thousands.
A plume of smoke visible,
And in the wind there’s no escape.
I happily sat behind a drum circle,
On that famous hippie hill,
Wandered aimlessly through the crowds,
Living in some strange dream,
Echoes of a past that I’ll never see.
The grocery was selling flowered crowns,
Like the old song would have you do.
Some part of my inner child,
Keeps romanticizing this way to be.
Here, the cops protect and assist,
Both the potheads and protests.
One mind-blowing difference.
Wow, this is where I now live?
Tell me, how often does one celebrate a medicine?
This poem was published as a part of Look Ma! No Hands! If you dig it, please support the author, and grab a copy!