sweet cherry wine

i remember

the tear gas when we used
to march

and protest the war.
the burn in our eyes.
the cops
chasing us in their starched

blue shirts.
helmets on, swinging
their clubs.

giving some a hearty wood
shampoo.

it was exhilarating
and a fun

time, a good place
to meet cute girls down

at the reflecting pool,
splashing

around
in their birthday suits.
we had our chants,
our home made signs.

then we went home and did
our homework

and ate with our family
before
slipping out to the woods

to drink with friends
a bottle of boones farm
cherry wine.

the next year, i cut my hair
got a job

and bought a car, 

slipped a ring on a girl's finger, 

and

that was the end of that.