I am not angry, America

I'm not angry, America.
Though I do feel let down,
Let down gracelessly
Like sack of grain
From your strong arm crane
Here on familiar California shore,
Where seagulls soar,
And sea lions roar.

On dock I wait to hear Golden Gate foghorn blow,
A vision of Jack Kerouac,
Or just you.
But all I see has been recreated,
A reality virtual
To the one I hold forever dear.
San Francisco, I have not forgotten.

The songs of the 70s I learned,
Now burned
Onto three CDs.
Are meaningless in this day and age,
Sung in tongues it seems
To those who might stop and listen with that rare, spare 7 seconds:
"Where have all the flowers gone..." and think "what the fuck, hippie chick?"
Mary Travers, I have not forgotten.

And, finally,
There is you, my family,
A vision, perhaps,
But if you are an illusion, don't spoil my joy!
My family, I have not forgotten.