It’s not as if I expected to find hippies
still trying to find themselves
and/or
magic mushrooms
here in Woodstock
35 years after.

Yet it’s not as if
I didn’t find any either.
Hippies that is.

Though the mushrooms
the magic
the mayhem remain

on some all points bulletin? missing.
Don’t trust anyone over 60!

But despite all distillations
this place
is still one in which to be lost and found
if one is to be lost and found at all.

Or to steal some pennies from a phrase well coined:
“Everything Old Age is New Age again”.

Woodstock Nation—note the absence
of a Starbuck’s. And cell phones
are off the radar
rendered mute.
The “Sounds Of Silence” of Paul Simon swelling
in your very ears.

Woodstock Nation:
where they see no rush to serve
their fellow man.
Unless of course it be something spiritual
on the menu. Food can wait.

In fact heaven can wait.
Which ironically is the name of this food service place:
Heaven. I’m in Heaven.

And somewhere a salad is growing.

This being the only possible
explanation
for it’s not having arrived as yet. Yet, no hurry.

I’m only 58.
Four-hundred-six in dog years— and told
I do look much younger. Thank God.
In Heaven.

So go with the flow
though goes the flow
like melting fudge.
Yet dare not begrudge

the onanistic seeds
of the Flower Children
and now their children

still trying to take hold in Mother Earth.