by Carol Schoen
Calm down, Allen, the angel headed hipsters
are sleeping it off. The pot’s
all gone. Your momma’s
safe in that big sanitarium
in the sky and the Beat world blew
off in a puff of smoke. A century
of time disappeared in a cyber minute.
Right now, right here, there’s just you
and me, two Jews trying to figure out
where we fit in a techie’s algorithm.
Here, I offer you, not the clutch
of love but a little of that mother
you hated, loved and wanted.
Come to this clean, middle-class bed
and I will cuddle you and you will remember.
Carol Schoen wrote her first poems for Sarah White’s study group and has been chugging along happily ever since.