At Mother's house in late October

We parceled out all the mementos;

I found the Stevenson banner I had 

Removed from the '56 convention hall.

Al Lowenstein helped me grab

the banner---he, a dangerous radical.

surreptitiously telephoned E. Roosevelt

from a stranger's suite we had commandeered.

(How else could two Yalies on leave

Be expected to meet their travel needs?)

That alternate delegate from Missouri

never did re-appear.

Fifty years brings us to our present lot,

Quizzical shift for y'all since Adlai and Ike;

The idea of salvation through lesser despots

Leaves me with a spot of melancholy. 

I miss my parents and the roaring fifties:

The revival tents we thought so obscure;

The windswept rides in our convertibles; 

Hate speech: "We killed ya'll's football team";

Drugs: "He drank a coke with an aspirin." 

Mother, I threw the banner into the trash bin,

And we've gotten rid of those '57 tail fins;

Once the meanings have died in your mind,

There is no point in keeping such finds. 

Note: Some years back I faxed this poem to a village newspaper on a tony island retreat where I was the guest of some friends. About four minutes later a black Crown Victoria buzzed the house, a car window rolled down and my license plate noted. It turns out it was the secret service detail of our national dynastic family who were luxuriating nearby. I have nothing against proper security but to this day I can't send a fax without wondeing if my line is being monitored.