DWM Senior Dance Days
“…Let the sunshine (and let the sun shine on in)
Let the sunshine in (You got to open up your heart)…"
-- From Aquarius, by The 5th Dimension
The times they were a-changing,
an age of great unrest.
A Ball of Confusion raging,
divisive with protest.
The Moon was in the seventh house,
the President nefarious.
A time for growth, a time to grouse,
the age of Aquarius.
While All Along the Watchtower,
to the church’s steeple,
long-haired boomers chanting “power,
power to the people!”
My hippie friends grew up too fast,
but draft cards never burned.
Five went to ‘Nam and stood steadfast,
but only two returned.
Still I recall that happy time,
the last of our togethers,
when we were seniors in our prime,
our spirits light like feathers.
I drove my Beetle to the dance,
my Volkswagen hotrod.
My friends were ready for romance,
all dressed up as “mod:”
Bell Bottom Blues and turtle necks,
right on, right on, right on!
Peace medallions and granny specs,
and girls like Goldie Hawn.
Our school gym decked with lava lamps,
and a psychedelic globe.
The speakers cranked to all their amps,
with black lights set to strobe.
Tunes played from our favorite station,
the Beatles to the Doors.
Talking ‘bout my g-generation’s
Magical Mystery Tours.
Something in the brownies tasted
funny, like burning wood.
Suddenly we all were wasted,
James Brown shrieked "I Feel Good!"
Is that our social studies teacher
in a tie-dyed paisley shirt,
with go-go boots that nearly reach
her micro miniskirt?
Dancing the Frug with attitude,
causing a commotion,
suggesting oral turpitude,
she rocked The Locomotion.
She was my favorite chaperone,
a groovy flower child.
From Steppenwolf to a Rolling Stone,
she was born, Born to be Wild.
"Ms. Lipton do you want to dance
and be my Maggie May?
C’mon teacher take a chance."
She said “yes,” I said “hurray!”
When the clock struck After Midnight,
we let it all hang down.
We slow danced some to Gladys Knight,
then didn’t hang around.
That night she was my Brown Eyed Girl,
my Magic Carpet Ride.
She taught me an exotic twirl,
the details … [classified].
Ahh, memories of Yesterday,
still so mesmerizing.
All my troubles seemed so far away,
‘til I saw a Bad Moon Rising.
I wished those days would never end,
but my long hair since has thinned.
And the answers to our troubles, my friend,
are Blowing in the Wind.
Submitted March 5, 2020 to the DWM Poetry Contest
Copyright © Eric Cohen | Year Posted 2020
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