Who doesn't remember Tony Lama
& those flashy pearl buttons,
cruisin' down the streets in torn jeans,
shirts unbuttoned to flat-navels
revealing sprouting chest hairs.

The disco ball twirled dance-magic,
along with the beach sounds
of sweet soothing melodies,
the ones that made you want
to sunbath covered
in Banana Boat oil.

A little bit of grease
went a long ways,
while warring with stars,
we got drunk in the bars,
sometimes got lucky in our cars
dreaming of better days
that weren't too great after all.

I miss those simple dates,
the ones without
immediate gratification
based on
the grand designs of
computer-aged
mobility.