the old rockers

i see the old rockers.

still 

in leather.

still rolling their joints

but no longer with the boone's

farm

now it's red from france,

or nappa

valley.

the long grey hair.

a pony tail.

hanging on to bruce,

to journey

to the rolling stones

and others.

keeping the flame going.

the old hippie

chicks and dudes.

beads

and tie dyed clothes,

and hair.

the boots.  they are stuck

somewhere.

dreaming of woodstock,

not here. but

the party ends at ten

now.

we need to get home,

call the grandkids

and tell

them

we were there.