'67 Dreams

I once thought
we would leave Brooklyn
and travel across America
in a chariot.
An awesome, red,
'67 Lincoln convertible, 
with suicide doors.
Radio blasting Jefferson Airplane.
Hair blowing in the wind.
Soaking up the sunshine.
Breathing freedom.
No watches, jobs or boss.
Stopping at Howard Johnson's.
Eating all 28 ice cream flavors,
one stop at a time and
fried clams by the bushel.
We were San Francisco dreaming.

'67 brought 
responsibility, stability,
Timex watch, 
Volkswagen,
subways, overtime, 
a baby, diapers,
larger Brooklyn apartment
and reality
but... 
1967 
was a very 
good year.










 
a baby, diapers,larger Brooklyn apartmentand realitybut... 1967 was a verygood year.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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Gauthier Avatar
November 14, 2019 at 10:10 AM
Much enjoyed your poem, Peter.
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