’72

The whole of ’72 went by so slow.

There was party after party,
Christmas almost every day.

Laughter was the language we spoke,
Even in our sleep,
Even in our dreams.

And when Christmas finally arrived,
We were all laughed out.

We had the best presents already opened in June,
Or September.
So there was nothing left to be happy about in December,
Except the coming of ’73.
The onslaught of lower expectation,
And the end of the party life.

It could not last forever.

We stumbled into that new year,
Eyes stinging from all the artificial lights,
And menthol cigarettes,
That filled our evenings and nights.
And the songs.
Oh what songs we sang!

What poetry we spoke to each other,
Before the hatred showed its face,
Was merely epitaph,
Wrapped in the sweetness of chocolate and coffee.

Our end was that Summer,
’73’s balmy July.
When sweat replaced the tears,
And anger suppressed the laughter.

Looking back.
It never works.
The mirrors of recollection,
Like times’ hazy stream,
Reflect a distorted picture of what really was.

Sometimes the lies are the best we remember.

© M.H.