On my daily walks along the sea in San Diego, young ones sport neon-bright tattoos and hair streaks like they crashed into a giant snow cone stand that morphed into beautiful art such as eagles, roses, haiku, etc. I want to ask, “Yeah, but why not put all those colors on your soul too, instead of just skin and hair?”
I imagine them saying, “Keep drinking your Jolt Cola, old man.”
I will. Rumi is my Jolt Cola.
Speaking of California surf, here is my latest activist poem that appeared in Rivet: The Journal of Writing That Risks: “What I Can’t Say at My Neighbor’s Party Looking at a Map of the United States.” In a related matter of media distortion, I watched the film Fed Up, which should be required-viewing for all students and parents.