House Overlooking the Park
by Marcel Aime Duclos

Those were the years
we spied on pinkos
from the upstairs window.
They camped beyond the divide behind our house.

Those first-generation hippies,
before they wore the label proudly,
smoked in the park,
washed their tattered jeans in the stream.

And the flamingos seemed not to notice
the mellow naked youth.
Instead, they wet their feet and beaks
before moving on, cheeks all pink.

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