Looking back on Bogie and Bacall.
PerhapsOld songs drift across the bar
Differing for every generation
Bits and pieces of memories,
clear as shattered crystal
A young man in the fifties, my songs
cry out from the thirties and forties
The decades before me beckoning,
while talking-up the eighties in the nineties
Times gone, flown like Pierce Arrows,
anachronous as Bogie and Bacall
Forgotten roadhouses and dance-bands,
unforgotten memories of heads on shoulders
Drifting smoke, before the Marlboro Man
Eyes that never looked away, but touched
Conversations softly held and hands
that, sometimes, softly held the words
Will they celebrate nostalgia for today?
The music no longer melody, but noise
Will generations look back on these times,
remember, yearn for them again from there?
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