Sixty-Nine

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O,
we remember Sixty-Nine,
all right;
the year I clocked-in
and you got knocked-
out by 'Round Midnight
(and -up,
the baby hanging
The Seventies around
our necks like
a ripe bird). We
sang along to Hey Joe,
drank Schlitz beer
from ice-filled washtubs,
got shit-
faced and flubbed
our marriage
(that came later,
but we laid the carriage-
road then—
rock and gravel
firmly packed, steam-
rolled).
             O,
we remember Sixty-Nine—
supine, sublime,
and upside-down to
each other, no yin-to-yang,
more like
up your ying-yang; and
bang-bang-bang-bang
went all the poor young guns…