At the bookstore

At the bookstore yesterday
two young punks with their parents
came in as I was going out;
they were festooned with spiky hair,
spiked bracelets and Doc Martens,
and t-shirts both bleached clean and pressed,
brand new, although the bold design
I’d seen — in fact, I’d worn myself
some twenty years before.
I didn’t have the heart to stop
and tell these kids something I’m sure
they would have heard with disbelief:
that I had heard of Minor Threat —
in fact, I’d hung out with Ian M;
a past member of Iron Cross
had been my roommate for a while;
the guys from All still had my Kustom amp;
and I’d lived, for a couple months,
on Henry Rollins’ furniture.
Hell, I’d even toyed with the notion
of playing in East Bay Ray’s new band,
after the Kennedys expired.

When I was a punk, Bauhaus
was still more than a t-shirt collection.

But these guys didn’t want to hear that,
I know.

Nobody wants to think their revolution
is recycled.

4 AUG 2005

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