sixty two

People can't hitchhike anymore, they say,
Because it's too dangerous.
Well I think I would like to hitchhike.
It's cheap travel and it's fun.

People can't play music anymore, they say,
It's too loud and wouldn't sell.
Well someday I'm going to play music in subway stations,
And someone is going to notice.

People can't write useless poems anymore, I know,
Because that won't get you through college
And in the digital age, people don't care to read that sort of thing.
This is a useless poem.
I like it.

People can't fall in love anymore, they say,
Because they don't like the girl he would date
And they don't approve of wisdom or folly.
I think someday I'll elope and move to the mountains with you,
And our wedding will be small, and we will only invite who we want to.

People can't give money to the homeless anymore.
They'll use the money for drugs or kill someone someday.
I don't know, honestly.
I just know Arlis, and he isn't all that right in the head,
But he just likes a coffee with 4 raw sugars and some cream,
And that tree over there to sit under.
He has an honest heart.

Maybe I'll live for tonight,
As long as these dreams stick around.