The 60’s

“60’s”

The fifties end, the sixties begin, now in High School I’m in

New books new friends, new studies, a medal I win

One year of football, we tried hard to win

My last two years, mostly a sin

A job, new clothes, money to spend

Friends get together, we pitch in

We have a few brews and go for a cruise

One party ends, another begins, they never end

Looking for the girl you’ll hold tonight

The locomotion, the swim, mash potato are in

Measuring success by who you caress

The slow dance ends the night, you hold her tight

Your friends in a fight, this ends the night

I hate to leave, I really can’t stay

The sirens are coming, they’re headed this way

I’ll write you a letter, remember this night

Words of love and devotion written on paper

On perfumed paper she replies, our love will not die

Waiting on Broadway for her to arrive

A vision of beauty walks by your side

The balcony in the theater is where you will hide

A kiss and a hug, expressions of love

Will we go all the way, I want you she smiles

We’ll be in trouble for ditching this day

I send you this letter to tell you good-bye

I’m joining the army, it may be my last

Two things I take, your love and your picture

Two things from the past, I hope it last

My son, my son what have you done

There is a war, they’ll give you a gun

My father cried for his wild son

I asked to go, the answer was no

Fort Ord it was, no further would I go

The job I was given, I did my best

My orders I followed with some regret

Sending my brothers, from Ord to hell

The look on their faces, all told a tale

Some no expression, others went pale

Some disbelief, others relief

All were but boys, to live the grief

Few I kept home, most I could not

Only the rich, controlled their lot

Rich daddy’s money found the right pockets

Gave life to their sons, away from the rockets

Men they came back, a story to tell

They tried to sleep, forget about hell

Screams of fright break the quiet of night

Sleep my brother; you’re home from the fight

My orders I followed, there seemed no end

A call to order, a medal I’d win

The nights that followed all a blur

Drinking and fighting, my self cure

Things I’ll remember and never forget

Cannery row, white sands of Carmel

The sight of Big Sur, so fresh the smell

The hippies and gurus, who hated the guns

New places, new sights, not in Boyle Heights

The mama’s and the papa’s, Bob Dillon’s words

New music, new friends, a new world begins

The faces the places, and all the sounds

New memories begin, this is how the sixties would end.

By

Roberto Juarez

 

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This entry was posted in boyle heights, poem, Uncategorized, urban life and challenges, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to The 60’s

  1. I love the lines: “Rich daddy’s money found the right pockets/Gave life to their sons, away from the rockets”

  2. Miriam says:

    Te felicito Roberto , excelente trabajo, me gustó mucho la historia 👍 😊💝🌻

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