For All the Beatniks of San Francisco

Shirley Brown was a very beautiful girl, And her brunette hair Hung down her back And as the wind blew thru the window, It waved around. It waved around. She was making sandwiches, And was packing them with fruit, And two massive bars of fruit And nut chocolate. She lit a cigarette, picked up the basket, And with a nod of her head, Waved her hair backwards And walked out the back door Into the alley where, Propped up against a fence Was a blue mini-moped. She mounted the bike, And with a little trouble, started it. And the rider made a sudden jump As a horn blew behind her, And a leather jacketed youth Sped by on a butterfly motor-cycle.   People turned away And the music blared on And the youths talked on. Then, a park keeper came But the youths took no notice. "What are you kids doing?" The keeper shouted, "I've had complaints from all over, Clear off, wilya, This is a park, Not a meeting place For all the Beatniks in San Francisco."   John Hemmings started dancing: "Cool it, grandpa, get on, Get going, don't bug me!" The kids had gone too far And they knew it. Some of them turned away, As the radio blared even louder, Litter was scattered everywhere. "I ain't chicken of dying," John Hemmings then said, "We've got to go on, ALL RIGHT! Who are the crumbs Who want to chicken out at this point? Just take your bikes and go. We're free people now. Nothing can stop us, We'll rule the streets, The young people will triumph." He was perspiring wildly And his black hair Hung down his back. It waved around. It waved around. ("For all the Beatniks of San Francisco" is based on extracts from one of my earliest existent pieces of fictional writing, dating from when I was about 15 years old.)