[Another priceless find from my '70s writing archive, the following is an ode to my hometown, composed a few months after I moved here.  As is clear from the snide tone, I wasn't thrilled by the lack of urban excitement (or overnight parking), and I hated the overall geriatric feel of the place - ah, callow youth.  Now that I'm geriatric, I have a slightly different outlook on the town.  I've lived here thirty-seven years, married, and educated my kids in local schools.  Brookline has become more sophisticated while maintaining a relaxed, exurban environment.  And Boston is still only a fifteen-minute walk away.]

You can keep your New York City with its theaters and its restaurants.

You can have your San Francisco by the bay.

I've no need to go to Reno with its blackjack, dice, and keno.

I don't care to hear the jazz in Monterey.

It's for Brookline my heart sings; nay, it soars on silken wings,

though after 2 AM it cannot park.

There's two Friendly's - you can choose; there's the Chronicle for news,

and the nightlife lasts 'til almost after dark.

In Paris, one may dine on pâté and fancy wine,

and Zurich may be famous for its clocks.

But no town the whole world over, yea from Istanbul to Dover

can claim more discount drugstores in three blocks.

Choice of toothpaste is supreme, be it Colgate, Crest, or Gleem.

Nowhere on earth will Rolaids cost you less.

And not even in Tangiers, if you wandered forty years

could you beat the mouthwash down at CVS.

So spare me, ye globetrotters with your tales of high adventure.

I don't care if you will say that I'm a rube.

Just let me live in Brookline where a man is never lonesome,

and Desitin is sixty cents a tube.