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Still Life With Dead Hippie (poem)

By Horace Coleman

It's all in the point of view. Suppose you have your
sophored out sophomore slumped on the sidewalk
in the foreground. Never made it to the bar.
His buddy's embarrassed, his girl outraged.
No fun tonight, Hon!

Or, maybe this feminist witch is exercising her anger
on this newly stricken MCP (male chauvinist pig).
As the stunned bastard in bellbottoms looks for reasons.

It could be a pink-faced VC broad trying to grasp the life that's just flown
from your unfavorite dumb son. And,
she has no right to cry out in plain sight. To be so
full of pain. You have to blame her for the cluck's bad luck.

Of course, what it was, was these dirty, rotten,
vicious whore kids - standing around watching the
overarmed, undertrained National Guard about to go wild.
And, yeah, those kids were fools.
Some of them believing in democracy & free speech & other book stuff.
As if they belonged in the real world.
Out there chunking rocks & flowers & slogans & curses.
Full of dope, sex, & unAmerican anti-war ideas.
They were coming out of class, out of their stupor, sitting on & smoking grass.
Reminding you! something's wrong & someone has to do something.
So, it's their fault it's not their fault!

Then we find out: there were no snipers or
syphilitic commie call girls recruiting on campus.
And that one girl was just a terrified 14-year-old runaway.
Barely old enough to bleed but the right age to understand the deed.

And, did you ever notice how that cheap statue,
down there in Columbus, of that used car salesman
toting forged registrations past the Capitol building
looks just like Governor Rhodes?

- Horace Coleman