A poem a day is not cure,
It's lollipops and green manure,
So hold your nose
And close your eyes,
The smell of cheese,
Is my surprise.

We were not innocent.

The desperate choke of religion,
A Jesus with our ham and cheese,
Jammed down our throats everyday,
Alliance with Satan implied and guaranteed,
If we deviated even one degree.

But then, to be honest,
We weren't that afraid.
And we were not innocent.

The offspring of war heroes,
We mimicked battles,
Received toy machine guns as gifts,
We joked endlessly with each other.
Babbled on in rushing rapid ramble,
About killing the enemy,
About nothing,
About school,
About the Maple Leafs.
About castles in the sky.


We shoplifted on a dare,
Bought cigarettes as ten year olds,
A full pack was twenty five cents,
We blew smoke rings for hours
While lying on our backs in the long grass,
Giant jumbo clouds floated by,
Our circus in the sky.

We peeked in windows, hid in bushes,
Learned about women's bodies
While she brushed her teeth,
And examined herself for lumps and bumps.
It was exciting beyond our wildest
******* fantasies.

We were young.
We were eager.
We couldn't wait to live each day.
We were boomers on the rise,
Life was meant to be exciting.

Look ahead.
We are at the end of work.
Everything we need or want,
Will be produced by technology.

Food, medicine, law, therapy, things.
All done without us. For us.

So what will you do?

Talk to strangers.
It's ok.
We need answers.

I will not cry.
I'm a man.

I will not complain.
I am free.

I will not ****,
I will protect.

I will not be a victim.
I have choice.

I will be kind.
But I will not lie.

I will never abandon.
Ever.

We weren't poor.
Not neither rich.

We were kids who played outdoors for hours.
Days.
Had to.
Indoors was dead, dark and dry.

Bee stings, marbles, kick the can,
British bulldog,
Hop scotch, hide and seek,
War, sneak peeking in windows,
Firecrackers, red rover,
And we rode bikes everywhere.
Just left them on the ground.

In 1960 HALF the world was under the age of 18.
Boomers owned the dog!
We were so sure of ourselves.

Don't get me wrong.
Life is getting better.
But wow did **** go by fast.

What would I tell a younger me,
Buy Apple, Amazon, be a franchisee,
Make money'd be my drab and drone,
Abandon passion with its tiresome moan.

But if you are trapped inside a dream,
With no escape from the poet's scheme,
Then let go now of all trepidation
And live your life in anticipation.

For an artist is a soul that's lost,
Curious, carefree, despite that cost,
And if you member with rogues and jesters,
Then death scares not and fear sequesters.

I like talking to boys I do not know, she said.
I like *** except in hammock, I responded. And swallowed my tongue.

What is the fastest ******* have ever had, she queried.

With a girl I met in a cross walk. We stopped in the middle of the street. I said wanna, she said yes. My van was parked at the Safeway. I never knew her name. Nor her mine. It was pure.

If you buy me dinner, you have to marry me, my angel responds.
And I thought about apple pie for desert.