New poem: MY SIXTIES.

Here's to memories:




twelve-ounce ten-cent cokes



in paper cups,



the giant-sized Superslide in Wichita Falls,



a copy of RUBBER SOUL



my mother bought me



for Valentine's Day,



Saturday (and sometimes Sunday) matinees



at the Grand Theater,



a rare dinner at the snack bar



of the bowling alley



across from the old Methodist Church,



occasional punishments,



an older brother I was too young to know,



teachers who liked me,



teachers who didn't,



true friends,



bullies in both child and adult sizes,



swimming lessons,



father who survived



an on-the-job accident



and had to have



a plate in his head,



comic books, candy and Fanta Orange



at the drugstore,



waiting downstairs at the Bethania Hospital



while my grandmother was dying,



listening to 45s of "Heroes and Villains"



and "Sunshine Superman" far away



from contact with the Summer of Love,



being loved more than I realized at the time.