rocketpaan (pazzesco_bella) wrote in smoking_beatnik,

not the 1970s

This is not the 1970s

The metallic van,
no backseat,
no side mirrors,
smells like incense
(Because it once smelled like skunk.)
Witness to the slowest summer
In 17 years.
We drowned our nagging consciences
(“best years of our lives”)
With loud FM radio,
Complaining that K104 never plays good music,
That we’re trapped.
That Milford’s a drag.
That it’s too hot—
What are we doing tonight?
Where? Who’s there?
We have to have as much fun
As mom and dad in their
Smiling, gold sepia snapshots
Sealed in dusty albums
(Makes us feel as if we’ll never live up.)
We did nothing that night,
But for once K104 played songs we knew—
And it was alright.
I would kill to be back,
August went by too fast.
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