hanging on

he hung on to
the sixties as long as he could.
into his own
sixties.
the long hair,
now silver, pony tail
dangling on his shoulders.
the balding
gone too far
to be undone.
rock and roll, he'd
say
to anything said to him.
far out.
peace.
right on.
he'd spin his lp's
late into the night and fire
up
some weed, talk
deeply about
the space between us all,
what time
and love
really mean.
medicare kicked in.
his knees hurt.
he needed a cane to walk
now to
his van, multi colored,
like his tie dyed shirts,
on blocks,
rusted at the edges,
like him.
my man.