An aging warehouse with a cement floor, <br />broken glass, and swooning walls. <br />Proud of its code violations. <br />No ads or radio spots, you just had to <br />know this was the place. <br />Before the Dead Kennedys came on, <br />some other band played “Sit On My <br />Face, Stevie Nicks.” In the parking lot, <br />Some boys too young for facial hair <br />mocked my pal’s beard, “I’ll <br />bet you were at Woodstock, ” one <br />sneered. This was an epithet? I wish <br /> I had been at Woodstock. I would have <br />stayed for Jimi after everyone else left. <br />Now it’s too late and it always will be.<br /><br />Michael Philips<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birth-of-punk-rock/
