My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
She would spend all day mixing
and kneading,
singing her old lady songs to herself.
I would get to lick the bowl.
This was my prize.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
My sister and I would play outside
almost every sunny day.
Magic kingdoms made of mud and bricks.
Toy soldier citizens of mock empires.
Barbie doll victims of terrible wars.
Bubblegum music from the top forty
traced the pattern of our lives.
Our country had a new flag and boys
in school still had short hair.
Little girls wore skirts and dresses and
pony tails were still the normal fashion.
Black and white television set turned to
the latest American sitcoms. We would
laugh at Granny and marvel at Endora.
Mr. Sullivan would present the latest rage,
the latest quartet or singer from England.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
We wore peace buttons on our coats,
and drew "smiley's" on our books.
We talked about what we were going
to do to make a difference in the world.
We admired the Fab Four and worshipped
at the altar of glorious possibilities.
We knew it was going to be beautiful,
because that is what we were being told.
Every morning at school we would sing
"God Save the Queen" and "O Canada",
say The Lord's Prayer and
hear the announcements.
Teachers talked about the future
as if it was a land of possibilities.
We did not know the black and white visions
would be transformed into colour horrors.
We had no idea that the dreams of peace and love
were going to be forgotten. Who could predict
the grey soul of adulthood? Where have
all the beautiful people gone?
My grandmother used to bake pies
in the kitchen where I lived as a boy.
Back when the world was psychedelic
and hippies wandered the streets.
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