Into the Wild

I remember the first six
years of college, community
college, with hair down my
back, rail thin, tight jeans
and flannel shirts. Not a care,
no ride, not one idea
of what to do next, where
to begin, or go, or how to
make a living. Asleep at
the wheel, inhaling
silly smoke on a regular
basis, drinking red
wine out of bottles, dissecting
Bob Dylan and the beauty
down the street, Melissa,
and her sister, Eve.
Nobody had a tatoo unless
they'd been in jail or in the
navy, no one was pierced
with metal through their
nose or tongue or eyebrows.
We were adrift on a sea
of apathy. The war was
ending, Nixon was waving
farewell from the white house
lawn. We were all treading
water, waiting for wind
to catch our sails, take us
somewhere, anywhere,
but our own backyards. If I'd
ever heard one word of advice
from either parent, I don't
remember. Their silence,
and absence is haunting still.
We were alone, raised by
wolves, set loose into the wild.