don't Bogart the joint

all the old hippies,

with grey ponytails

and fried brains from smoking

the wacky

weed

for decades

are thrilled that it's nearly

legal now.

no more worries

with the Po Po

pulling you over

or raiding your crib

in your mother's basement.

finally

at last, they say,

putting on a Led Zepplin

record again,

and firing up

the bong.

no more explaining to mom,

that it's the smoke

of a big cigar

you're burning and passing

around.