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Atlanta Class of '66

 Bent fenders, outspoken by the gas to get there,
‘Never-minded’ by rear-rending hams-in-the-moon,
Were zippered by bondo and struck by a spare,
Re-made by ‘Mericans,’ not done-up in Kowloon.
We hit the Hursht shift, hunting rabbits in headlights.
The five-speeds in GTO sang out the blues
In the ball bugging bellbottoms of hip-hugging midnight,
And took the rock outa roll, the bugs in the Beatles
and the blue suede shoes.
Atlanta was a hotbed for catchers-in-the-rye.
Lance played with Arthur in the gym, on stage,
And the spring spewed blond from a bottle-a-dye.
Michael, our pimp and a cheat, played the paige.
So, a toast to the pure, to the greedy score-counting whore,
To Maybelline and Michael, who rowed his boat ashore.
 
C.C. Ryder
July 26, © 1990

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