Nieces and nephews may never walk through the Grateful
Dead's "Morning Dew" or dance barefoot
down Los Gatos streets
at midnight
in step
with
our
frank
smug
eco
convictions
pontificating
ideals or embracing prospects
with reverential millennial cell phone passion.
Perhaps they'll enjoy the perks while avoiding dreadful
drawbacks perpetuated by
my generation,
shunning blind
accords
backs
to
the
sun
ditching
safety zones,
venturing beyond
authority's wasteland of dreams,
chasing illusive windmills pledging enduring change.
