slam etc.

The whole world changed in the 60's.
Politically, it was the difference
Between Eisenhower and Kennedy.
Between "duck and cover" drills at school,
And real bombs over the Mekong.
Between battlefield glory
Depicted in World War II movies,
And Viet Nam,
Splattered uncensored on the nightly news.
Between conformity and protest.
Between colored people "knowing their place,"
And blacks "having a dream."
Between housewives in house dresses,
And feminists burning their bras.
Between "the man in the moon,"
And Neil Armstrong actually walking on the moon.
Between starting the school day with the Lord's prayer
And Madeline Murray O'hare.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

It was also the difference
Between leaving your key in the ignition,
And having to lock your car.
Between throwing coins
On top of the stack of newspapers
After choosing your copy,
And buying a paper from a locked vending box.
Between taking the the number 8 bus
To the big department stores downtown,
And driving to and hanging out at the new suburban shopping center.
Between one car per family,
And "crazy women drivers."
Between milk,
Delivered to your doorstep
In glass bottles,
And buying milk in cartons
At the grocery store.
Between paying a deposit on soda bottles,
Then having to return them
To get your money back,
And "no deposit, no return" throw-away bottles.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

Between Annette as a Mouseketeer,
And Annette playing "Beach Party Bingo."
Between "Around the World in Eighty Days,"
And "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World."
Between Elvis and the Beatles.
(Yeah, yeah, yeah!)
Crewcuts to long hair.
Peddle pushers to bell bottoms.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

Between a little place called Hamburger Junction,
Where a model train carrying your plate
Stopped in front of your seat
At the lunch counter,
And driving in to McDonald's
And eating In your car.
Trademarks went from round and ornate
To square and simple.
Script Coca-Cola to block letter Coke.
Esso to Exxon.
The fancy engraved bell of the phone company
To a simple blue-line hint of a bell.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

On TV, it was the difference
Between black and white, and the NBC peacock.
Between "I Love Lucy" and Mary Tyler Moore.
"Father Knows Best" and "Bewitched."
"The Lone Ranger" and "Bonanza."
Mickey Mouse and Fred Flintstone.
"The $64,000 Question" and "The Match Game."
Lassie and Mr. Ed.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

Clothing kept us ironing everything in the 50's,
But the 60's had "drip-dry" dresses
And "no-iron" shirts.
Guys went from boxer shorts to briefs.
(We've come full circle on that one.)
I tenderly mothered my "Tiny Tears" doll in the 50's,
While my 60's little sisters dressed Barbie for the prom.
I used real potatoes on my Mr. Potato Head.
The 60's version came with a plastic potato shaped head.
The whole world changed in the 60's.

We also discontinued arithmetic
And started taking math.
I went from ankle socks to stockings.
(Not bobbie socks like the song says.)
Saddle shoes to penny loafers.
Pony tail to teased hair.
My book bag and a lunch box,
carried to elementary school,
Were replaced in Junior high and high school
By a brown paper lunch bag.
And books carried just so
In the crook of my left arm,
And a 50's child emerged as a 60's adolescent.
My whole world changed in the 60's.

Morning Prayer

Serenity.
My gaze following the shredded
golden foil pathway
Toward the brightness just risen
above the mists of the horizon.
Sunrise on the sea.

Daybreak.
The sound of windless waves
lapping confidently on the shore,
Unstirred by the midday breezes
that are sure to come later.
Morning calm.

Early morning.
Pondering Bible poetry,
I pray in silence,
Undisturbed by the midday stresses
that are sure to come later.
I shall not face them alone.

I. THE NANA PULLA GUY
He was a kid
With a bicycle,
An unusual bicycle,
One with a steering wheel
Instead of handle bars.
Did he make it himself?
We used to see him
When we passed through his neighborhood,
On the way to Nana Scarpulla's.

Riding in the "way back"
Of Mom's old pink station wagon
With the window rolled down,
We used to yell things out to him,
Dumb things, like:
"We're goin' swimmin' with bow-legged women!"
"Is your refrigerator running?"
Sometimes he would hear us
And roll his eyes.

Eventually we just told him where we were going.
"We're goin' to Nana Scarpulla's!"
And that got shortened to,
"We're goin' to Nana Pulla's!"
We started referring to him
As "the Nana Pulla guy."
"Where's the Nana Pulla guy?"
"Here comes the Nana Pulla guy."
"Ready, one, two three...
We're goin' to Nana Pulla's!"

What ever became of the Nana Pulla guy?
Would he remember us?
Did he grow up
and work in an office?
Did he become a policeman?
Does he ever tell stories
About the noisy kids
Yelling out the back of a pink station wagon?
Or did he just get drafted
And die in Viet Nam?

II. UNKNOWN SCHOOLMATE
Walking home from Towson High School
One afternoon my sophomore year,
I found myself walking next to
A girl I didn't know.
We introduced ourselves,
But I can't remember her name.
All I remember was
That she said she hated her father.

"You hate your father?!?
How can that be?
You don't really mean that!"
"O yes I do,"
She said with conviction.
And proceeded to tell me
How he had killed her mother,
And then woke up all the kids
and told them,
"I shot your mother."
Then he called the police
And now he was in jail
And she hated him.

I should have been understanding,
Or comforting,
Or something,
But I was only shocked.
I was of no help whatsoever.
I never saw her again.
I guess our class schedules didn't coincide.
I mean it was a big school,
Overcrowded during those baby boom years.
I hope she had a really understanding social worker,
Some good counseling,
Or, somewhere along the line, found Jesus.
Or did she just end up hating God as well?
I pray that she has learned to cope.


III. THE KEMP MILL BOOK WORM
No one knew his name,
But anyone
Who was ever out and about
In our end of Kemp Mill
Knew exactly who you were referring to
When you mentioned the the bushy gray eyebrows,
The glasses resting down on the end of his nose,
The cigar clenched tight in his teeth.
The book held out at an angle in front,
The pages illuminated by a little attached book light,
His slow, measured steps
As he paced the neighborhood streets
Reading,
And smoking,
And getting in his daily walk
All at the same time.

Sometimes in the late morning,
Or early afternoon,
Or in summer twilight after dinner.
Always in the middle of the road;
Never on the sidewalk.
Maybe he was just out there all the time.
Perpetually roaming
The mundane, suburban streets
While the book transported him
Who knows where.
New Orleans?
Mars?
Ancient Greece?

He never said anything;
Just strolled through the neighborhood.
A sleep walking phantom,
Unaware of his notoriety,
Oblivious to the curious stares
And turning of heads,
But not to the turning of pages.
Was he reading novels
Too exciting to put down?
Romances?
Mysteries?
Or was he studying something?
One would say he was an intellectual health nut ...
...were it not for the cigar.

I haven't seen him lately.
Did he sell his house
to move closer to his children?
Is he in a nursing home?
Is he still alive?
There's an emptiness in the streets now.
Sad.
I never took the time
Or chance
To try to get to know him.
Would he have wanted me to?