Hooped Dresses In the Dirt Dragging

Is it so crazy to relive happy days.
With a squeaky clean innocence,
To amaze.

Gone are cloudy eyes cleared from a haze.
Reminiscent of those times,
Covered wagons were the rage.

Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging,
With dudes in zoot suits.
Wide-legged, high-waisted pants...
And wearing button spatted boots.

Today are seen exposed breasts.
And men's underwear.
No one wants to cover up,
Anything bare.

Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging.
Bring 'em back.
Bring' em back.
Dudes in zoot suits,
And wearing button spatted boots.
Bring 'em back.
Bring' em back.
Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging.
Bring 'em back.

My mind is old-fashion.
Yet ecclectic are my dreams.
I'd never thought I'd be a prude.
But some exposed butts demean.

So crude are these visions.
Looking away is not enough.
Who okayed today's display?
With no signs of it giving up!

My eyes have grown tired.
And my lips have long not touched.

'Where are we? '

Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging.
Bring 'em back.
Bring' em back.
Dudes in zoot suits,
And wearing button spatted boots.
Bring 'em back.
Bring' em back.
Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging.
Bring 'em back.

Today are seen exposed breasts.
And men's underwear.
No one wants to cover up,
Anything bare.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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