Walking past the cornfield the other day
I revisited my reformed headbangers
Boomers who’d left the sixties in their wake
My long-haired rockers now shorn
Their garish cranberry locks a respectable brown
Short
No longer rocking or swaying in the wind
Plumper, fatter
They lean in close conversing
Shunning whispered secrets of rendezvous and romance
In favor of meeting minutes and agendas
Respectable
Ready to be plucked up and join society
I miss their nascent days
When long red wisps of hair flailed in the breeze
And their bodies spoke of promise
When they craved the kiss of the sun
Rather than to ripen in its embrace.
I wonder if once in a blue moon
Under the glow of its yellow light
If they may still
Let their hair down
Shake beads of perspiration into the midnight sky
Let loose and howl
For all they’ve lost
And all they’ve gained
For potential
And fulfillment
For the hope of harvest
And the day when it comes due.
