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In front of a Penn Station bathroom door,
I found a load of shit upon the floor.
Written in six-inch letters on the toilet wall,
" Hell no, we still can't afford to go."

I thought baby boomers
had invented the end of hate and war.

We gathered together as tribes,
colorful, pulsating throngs of
powerful and sign waving humanity.

We marched a hundred-thousand strong,
whenever freedom fighting forces
were challenged by the criminally insane.

But, this morning I had to ask the conductor,
" Where is the peace train?"

Most of my generation,
evaporated from the center stage,
wait on the platform,
ghostly, haggard faces,
buried into The Times.

Limericks and hollow eyes
masquerade the creases of age.
Designer labels and mustaches
have replaced Levi's
with a faded denim dream.