In The Naming of the Dead,
Ian Rankin writes,
“A fan had been stabbed to death
at a Stones concert in 1969,
and the decade had petered out.”
Yes. I graduated in 1968. A couple
one year ahead of me and Brenda—
George and Clyda Rent—got their PhDs
in three years, got teaching jobs as sociologists,
and had careers as college teachers. But we were
a day late and a dollar short. Or we had
the wrong major or went to the wrong
graduate school. Anthropology. Tulane University.
We got short shrift. We sucked hind titty.
We missed the boat. The ship sailed.
We were ground up for paint
by United Fruit. Middle America
Research Institute (MARI).
Have you had it on a banana?