as i tinker
with the time machine i'm building
in the basement,
drinking scotch
and listening
to Bob Dylan,
i wonder how far back i should
go.
what era suits me.
the fifties,
full of plaid
and pink kitchens,
the sixties, with
the illusion of free love. or
the seventies with all that bad
clothing.
do i still have my Nehru jacket?
who am i now,
i ponder, as i lift the needle
off the record
where it skips
on the song, It takes a lot to laugh,
but a train to cry.
maybe the eighties.
punk and new
wave.
i did like that hair style.
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