Summer of 2007

It was no breakthrough summer

Like the seventies were to the sixties, it seemed to be a nostalgic but violent hangover from the overindulgences of the previous year

I am just thankful that the girl pecked my cheek and not my lips

Because she’d have been an unfaithful and disappointing first kiss

When I presented a flock of poems, she only complimented the one that the other boy co-wrote

If I hadn’t credited him, what would she have said?

And I don’t exactly miss the lengthy songwriting sessions either

Where I saw myself to have the ambitions of Dylan and the ability of Garfunkel

Sorely wishing that I could resort to just covering Jello Biafra

And perhaps present the 21st century to updated horrors of “California Uber Alles”

With an apathetic team of songwriters on my side, I’d joke that our new religion-themed song should be in the key of “G-sus”

But I couldn’t have hummed such a tune if I tried.

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