Classic Poem

It will be such and such a year,
the sun appearing now and then,
clouds over cola, booze and beer,
teenagers now grey-bearded men,
corn on the cob and sizzling meats,
smoke from a charcoal-heated grill.
There will be women, cries, and feats,
dandelions on a hill,
twister, spin the bottle, hide
and seek. There will be joy and laughter,
marshmallows, bonfire and hayride,
a game of softball the day after.
Only you will lag behind,
Nineteen Eighty-Four no nearer—
your clothing, hairstyle, language, mind—
trapped inside a rear-view mirror.