The Poet

The Poet

Monday, September 26, 2016

Talking ‘Bout My Generation by Ronald Porter ©2016

I lay awake, at night, remembering
cleavage nights and bar-be-que
hips and lips and fingertips
burned like tabasco and kerosene
and the girls were garbed like flowers
the boys like peacocks with fancy shoes
rolling the rock and drinking blues
Nobody was getting any younger
but I hear, you’re only as old as you feel
life was a big warn chicken casserole
comfort food; yummy, and spiced just right
and we feasted as if on a holiday meal

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