A Dream of the Millenium

I dreamed of the Millenium
And in my front pocket
were the keys to a '51 Buick convertible,
bright red, immaculately restored, the rag top down,
chrome grille teeth beaming a Teddy Roosevelt smile at me.
And in my wallet was a valid license
that didn't require a mug shot or social security number to get.
My wife slid over on the bench seat
and snuggled up like we were still two teenagers
My daughter-in-law got in the back with her baby,
where my son, the husband and father, the gearhead,
sat grinning from ear to ear
Some little kids from the block hopped in,
because it was an old car, and bright red,
and there were no car seat regulations
and there was ROOM
And as we cruised the neighborhood
getting thumbs-up from people in open doorways
I saw a man who worked
for the EPA: he shouted,
"Wake me, for His sake
Who may not be mentioned on government time,
for I am in a dream of Hell."