Good Ol’ Days?

Days
When a death was without guise
When a scum bag in a wrinkled linen suit
Could stagger with Jimmy Cagney deftness
Knife protruding from the heart
Mouth agape in surprise
Fall face down in a rain drenched gutter
Knowing it was quits

Days
When future grandpas and grandmas
Wrote youthful prose well into the night
Penned upon the same kind of notebooks
Their kids used in school
When the great American novel was
Still a dream that could honestly come true

Days
When a family’s one-room cold water flat
Was blessed with one of the ubiquitous fire escapes
To hang laundry by day
Enjoy the stars by night
When roof tops were for pigeon cages
And throwing the panicked to the streets below
By Pomade groomed mobsters

Days
When war vets
Some without legs
Pushing along on gloved palms
Atop make-shift dollies
Dodging the cart vendors
Stick ball players
And fire hydrant cooling
Found life doable

Days
Often called the good ol’ days
Before we homogenized struggle and hardship
Into packaged answers sans hard fought questions
Before striving to live the good life for many
Became mere vicarious virtual reality games