Steinbeck Lane .. .

..

Where I grew up in gunner’s shale
  shoes polished, faces paper pale
the television flickered bread was stale
  we put a brave face on and smiled

green the carpet spread about us
  sleepy set among post-war housies               
chintzy paper covered cracks all over
  cells wrought strong not jerry built

search to find patriots hidden
  neath the undergrowth were they driven
the anonymity of the poor left bleeding
  to find their own way still believing

young dreamers spake in tongues
  fragile voices with tobacco lungs
learned audacious visions of the past
  wore their hair like broken glass

partizan, brash, all self assuming
  with devils, youth eternally colluding
batter at the hoary head of shame
  vindictive in apportioned blame

they looked for Steinbeck Lane
  midst middle-class cul-de-sacs of pain
found only rough hewn poem sonnets
  buried ‘neath their childhood bonnets

we puffed the dragon, spilt his seed
  rallied ‘gainst the capitalist creed
read the book of thoughts by tse tong
  infected of the wrong of being young

thus bells rang out for class
  smug disappointment settled vast
a generation too soon ran to the hills
  scattered potions, memes and pills

an estuary of guilt and lost romance
  brave ones died, others left the dance
the auditorium emptied and a pale
  shenanigan cemented took its place

where the underground; the subversive
  now that Dylan sold his back catalogue
the rebel rousers all went electric
  relevant protest versed in semantics

a few hardy souls remain transient
  existentially mindful, consciously aware
they stand by their indelicate stain
  watch, listen, elevator music disdain

..

©edenbraytoday26.01.2025