Age of Choice
I’ll always be eighteen.
Remember me when I’m sixty,
inside I’ll be a teenager
still listening to Neil Young
searching for his Heart of Gold
when my poetry still incandescently
flows to thrill and bring
a childish smile to my face
just like tonight
as the harmonical pulse
and banjo jings slap
another song to awaken
rhythms infinitesmal in me.
At eighteen I had
faculty of will and intellect
desired. Cool headed logic
was mine plus eternal youth
and long-haired flippancy —
what more to ask from an age,
therefore I’ll always be eighteen.
