Phormer Phanatic

Once upon a time, when I was a young girl,
And the world went by in a kaleidoscopic whirl,
I listened to this band that hailed from Vermont;
The lots at their concerts, I would haunt.

I ingested every drug under the sun
In the name of good music and better fun.
“Heady nugs, bra!” the dreddies cried.
(On more acid than a battery—always fried.)

My neck was circled in garlands of hemp;
Deodorant was the extent of my primp.
Long, flowy skirts and Birkenstocks—
Have you ever smelled shoes worn without socks?!

Still, it was wonderful, and I sure loved Phish.
Grilled cheese and Fat Tire... Mmmmm, delish.
We’d dance in the grass like our feet were on fire.
To have a good time was my heart’s only desire.

I must be officially past youth’s prime
Because I don’t care to see them one last time.
Simply can’t stand all the fake-hippie hype—
Dreadlocks and patchwork? I laugh as I type…

I will still listen to the Grateful Dead
On Saturday mornings when I make my bed.
But no more, “’Chalkdust,’ second set ?! Duuuuuuude!”
I’ve developed a more high-minded attitude.

The tunes from my college years grow ever distant
And of rejoining the scene, I’m entirely resistant.
I’m sure I’d stick out like a wizened sore thumb,
Despite spending years being comfortably numb…

“Goodness!” I can say to my former self.
Good thing that life’s up on the shelf
Of Things I Have Done But Won’t Do Again.
(Except for the occasional chemical sin.)