The Romanos set the eternal beat,
For our adolescent, itchy feat.
We stood, not too tall,
Our backs against the wall,
Parachutes above our heads,
Our eyes fighting thoughts of bed,
A disco ball stood sentry,
“Color My World” our port of entry,
We talked far too loud,
Our nascent thoughts, not out loud,
Chicago’s syrupy beat,
Hastened our leaded feat,
Our one and only chance,
“May I have this dance?”
Holding one another close,
A simple thing we wanted most,
The music cuts and dies,
We barely lift out eyes,
Boys to boys, girls to girls,
Our limited social whirl,
Curfew like a drum-beat,
Move us home on hastened feat.
An eternal beat.
One More Voice in the Wilderness 