there will come a time when old ladies
will be named rainbow and starshine, and
old men will wear bell-bottomed jeans
pulled up to their armpits. mick and keith
will tour the world in walkers, singing
through electric voice boxes clutched in
forgetful hands. lava lamps will be found
in antique shops, and some dealer
in waist-length, straight-haired blue wigs will
make a fortune, golf slacks will be made
of paisley. words like "peace" and "love"
will find their way into the brand names of
denture adhesives, and the beatles will be
reunited at last.

for a long summer moment, the stories will
roll out from stoop after stoop, stories of abbie
and jerry and jimi and janis, of woodstock and
kent state, of haight and ashbury, of ring around
the pentagon and the power of flowers, of
conscience raging through city streets, of all the
places we traveled in brightly painted vans, or
while sitting perfectly still on a bag of dried
beans. and then, in a puff of aromatic smoke, the
last of us will be gone, and old folks
with safety pins through their noses will
inherit the world.

as published on CaféMo.com
included here thanks to Maggie Balistreri