It was our fault, Danny Meyer, not yours.
We were in a bad place.
We, locked within our wood-paneled prisons
With stagflated hearts, mood rings flat onyx
Prowling suburbia in moaning, wounded Buicks
Waiting for something to happen, or at least to pass.

A decade of avocado and umber, burnt sienna
Color movies of black and white cities
Cracked pavement, dying weeds, and clouds.
How could we even imagine powder blue?
You, this California promise, this redwood hot tub,
You, the Magnavox Odyssey in a neighbor’s den.

You were the demigod we promised ourselves.
That golden-curled Daphnis, at play in his fields,
Eyes shining, lips curled into thoughtless smile
A frozen homage to untouchable, fearless youth.
You would wield the spear and shield
And lead our people to happy war.

And like Daphnis, you were abducted and beaten
The love of your life nearly sold into slavery.
Much like baseball, the story of Daphnis is praised
Today more for its artistry than its originality.
Young men smiled like you every day. They still do.
We wished for a hero. We received an archetype.