A SIXTIES SORT OF SCENE
The wrecked boys march in their parade
With heads axed open by alcohol
Or fingers on the cancer trigger:
More than one way to take a death-trip,
Riding a flat-car on the Limbo Line.
The sweet, bright girls shot down by sex,
Their wings torn off by heroin;
Hand on the phone and no one there,
No one to call back Marilyn or Janice J,
Riding a flat-car on the Limbo Line.
The ones who never did grow up,
We hardly even know their names:
Strapped to a splint of house and child,
They kept their heads and lives together,
Riding a flat-car on the Limbo Line.
Call them up, the dead and living friends
Who paid the various price,
Say their names like a prayer, all our
Dear contemporaries,
Who went through the black door,
Riding a flat-car on the Limbo Line.
|