A New Shirt
In the Shangri-La of San Francisco
they called it The Summer of Love,
tuning in and dropping out
to a soundtrack of spacey guitars.
Bookish, shy, and too young
for a droopy moustache and sideburns,
I was hothoused instead by Hayes
for the maths I was taking early,
but got a hint of something else
in Scott Mckenzie’s anthem.
Against her better judgment,
my mother allowed me to pick a shirt.
– A bright yellow shocker
with a floppy, extravagant collar,
it didn’t survive the first lesson
before they sent me home
to dream on at the back of the bus
of topless Haight-Ashbury girls,
whose painted bodies sway
to airborne waves of music.