Sunday, October 11, 2009


A group of grown up, grey haired folk
Grizzled geezers, grandmoms and pops
Are gathered - grouped to cogitate –
They congregate to find a way
Of reaching modern youth.

These old folks sit in the youth group’s hall.
They read the writing on the walls.
Between the stenciled hands and feet
The kids have written names and dates:
“Karen, Class of Twenty Ten”
“Jethro, two thousand three.”

This room has odors all its own
Of sleeping bags, of old popped corn,
Honeysuckle by the door,
The summer scent of fresh cut grass.
The old folks, silent, contemplate
How their own youth had slipped away…

They seem to hear those drawn-on walls
Ghostlike, whisper whimsically –
“Your parents, too, despised your clothes,
Thought you outrageous, wild, and dumb –
Would not succeed in anything –
And look how far you’ve come!”