BJ&K #2

poem, poems, poetry, writing

Feeling like a kid again

Playing house like Kat and mouse

Hiding under sheets

Like parachutes

In elementary schools.

Meet me on the swings

At high noon

So we can take flight,

Two birds beaten from the bush.

I’ll race you to the slide

Place your hands

On my rising chest

Whisper, “feel my heart beat”.

But you can’t hear me

Over the ring of the bell

We observe each other

Like show and tell.

Walk me home on the old dirt path

With naïve juvenile breathe,

Fingertips woven in mesh.

There’s a stop sign around the corner

I’ll leave you right there

Cross the street to the bus stop

Consume the fresh cut grass in the air.

The grass is always greener

And there’s somewhere else to go.

The rain falls,

The tides change,

And there’s new seeds to sow.

Nothing to do with the curling of the toe,

We know what we know

And the rest is yet

To be absorbed.


Future events

organized in effervescent



and sound waves.

We all grow old

Here right now full of temporaries

But I still remember

The blisters from the monkey bars.

Those memories, they left their scars

In behavioral gestures,

Shoulder postures,

And inflectional speech drawls.

These memories will be

Twinkles in our irises

And spittle on our lips.

They seep through our pores

In salty aromatic drips.

They tell stories of wonderlust

With every lasting finger print

On bodies and beds,

On cigarettes dropped in sewers,

On bills passed among the masses,

On coffee cups,

Car door handles,

And rocks glasses.

Stuffed in the liquor

Cabinets, behind automobiles

In driveways

And spinning sprinkler

Like playing 9-5 dollhouse.

Puppeteers pulling strings

The veil over our eyes

Grows wiser, dissatisfied.

More aware of their lies

Than their lives.

Tightening the knots

Of their ties

And shouting for the

Home team

Like when teens convene.

We are all young at heart.

Some really play the part.


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