They roomed together 50 years ago
in Berkeley, at the height of its unrest.
They both liked drugs, but one of them was slow
to move and opted for cocaine as best;
the other raced a lot in legs and brain,
and liked how marijuana modified
her processing, let TV entertain,
increased the challenge friends did not provide.

The two are close and frequent even now,
and sometimes they indulge their youthful trade,
but allocate the tasks a bit. That’s how
the hophead bruised her finger with the blade
she used to chop the coke for her old sis,
whose wrist arthritis limits acts like this.