"back in the day" is something
the masses have begun to say--they didn't hear,
five miles to school in the snow, uphill, both ways
nor did I, but I did hide in an arroyo from wicked desert sands,
crouching small with my notebook protecting my acne pocked face
the chosen (with fewer zits) poured from shiny clean station wagons,
their morning mothers’ smiles on their tails, sans the gray grit
from my lonely wilderness journey
still,
we got our first color TV that year,
and I got to see red blood from the first fallen
in that crazy Asian war...I can't remember what color it was
on the black and white, though it dried black on my jungle fatigues,
only five years later, when Sugar Ray from south side Chi-town died
in my arms, one of his skinny legs blown off by a mine
someone decided to put on that trail,
back in the day
Walter Cronkite told us it was all for naught, and we believed him
Johnny Carson still made laughs while anonymous millions made love
(now I hear tell Jay Leno is "back in the day," so who the hell was he?)
gas lines began to form, and Tricky **** tripped on his tongue,
one too many times, and even more chanted the mantra,
"back in the day"
decades passed,
with Iran holding hostages, Ronny Ray-Gun getting shot
and Clinton getting a *******, and the day finally came,
when we were told we were all the same, with some folks
named "Will and Grace" gracing the screen,
now that Walter and Johnny and Superman
retired to a place called obscurity,
or maybe Nebraska
I didn't know what to tell my straight kids, so I didn't
and that was OK, because their "back in the day" was 9/11
and it mattered not who was het or gay, because nobody had black and white anymore,
those tube filled dinosaurs now in some landfill, buried beneath a billion dead cell phones,
a trillion plastic bottles, the cyber art of Steve Jobs and Bill Gates,
and the dung of dogs who could stand the sterile scent
or who did not care
now we still say back in the day,
the view of that backward horizon different for all
I try hard not to wonder, what spell we are no longer under
when we can’t call someone a ***, or hang someone
who simply tries to vote, and of course I must duly note
when my PC is silenced in a newer pile of trash
it will not matter who was gay, or who says,
back in the day
**disclaimer: this has nothing to do with Truman Capote's ****** orientation nor is it homophobic--it was simply a nostalgic trip I took today, composed, ironically perhaps, on my cell phone