Walking into the Hip-E-Dream Antique Shoppe,
I strolled through aisles of pillows and hanging
beads,
Looking for something that I wasn’t quite sure
existed.
If it was anywhere, I knew that it had to be there
Because I heard about it from the ghost of a generation
Who couldn’t quite explain it to me in exact
terms,
Just that people placed a high value on
it
So I knew that it was worth hunting around the
shop for,
Waddling through the flower power signs
And the glass encased fringed leather purses,
Followed by imaginings of the thwack thwack sound
Of ancient huaraches,
Looking through rack upon rack of caftans,
Tripping over a few strangely ornate smoking
devices,
I kept remembering how the elders mentioned
That they just sang for it and it appeared
But whatever it was, they now took up arms and
battled for it.
When I saw the proprietor casually strike a match,
I smelled the smoke and saw my reflection in the
mirror,
Looking rather disappointed at that,
I started to walk out empty handed and so sad
That I almost missed
The crumpled and torn scrap of paper in the corner
That held the words
Peace and Love.
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