Jun 2014
One has a population of 1,700,00
The other 2,000 locals,
swelling to 10,000
come the summer people,
the likes of him,
and noisy day trippers,
neither like
both born and bred on their respective islands
he locks his car always,
when and where ever
where ever is
mostly,
she leaves her keys
in the ignition
especially when
she leaves
the car running
on the street,
when doing quick errands
both are life long islanders,
that from time to time come
avisiting each other's home plate
at night,
he just locks the doors
but once,
no deadbolt,
a sign he is cool
on her countrified territory
her house door has a lock,
but no one knows the
key's exact whereabouts
going on,
as long as she can remember,
which is most of
her twenty years total
he lives in a tall apartment building
on a finger shape island that probably has
10,000 tourists arriving daily
she from an irregular shaped isle,
twenty five miles as the osprey flies,
and they do,
hers, nestled tween two forks,
and ferry's connecting you to the
"off island" till about 1:00am running,
after that, well, find a beach...
she, in a house,
outback,
behind the
country-package-store-deli
where the
most expensive gas on the island
for sale to touring folk
on the island's main gig highway
that store where
only the localest of locals
come in for
to buy their beer,
and the lost tourist,
looking for free directions
pays for them with expensive gasoline
he has one job
she has three
when not waitressing at Sweet Tomato,
she's planting flowers for the landscapers,
or working the counter at said store
she was prom queen
he did not go to his prom some 45 years ago
Two islands, two people,
one ancient, even borderline old,
one a student studying
modern farm management,
with the future openness of youth,
who won't take down college loans,
the other,
edging closer to his distinct extinction
but they talk for hours,
and he tips her more
than the cost of his meal
and the bottle of Pinot Grigio,
which loosened his tongue,
on a Friday eve
having traveled almost
four ungourmet hours,
to get to the island
he borrows from her,
in the summer time
and two days later,
one is encapsulating
the memory of the meet,
on an island of poetry
and he thinks he will go back
to conversation continue,
but that first meet
well, no repeat,
so he leaves
it's taste
here
for you to share
The other 2,000 locals,
swelling to 10,000
come the summer people,
the likes of him,
and noisy day trippers,
neither like
both born and bred on their respective islands
he locks his car always,
when and where ever
where ever is
mostly,
she leaves her keys
in the ignition
especially when
she leaves
the car running
on the street,
when doing quick errands
both are life long islanders,
that from time to time come
avisiting each other's home plate
at night,
he just locks the doors
but once,
no deadbolt,
a sign he is cool
on her countrified territory
her house door has a lock,
but no one knows the
key's exact whereabouts
going on,
as long as she can remember,
which is most of
her twenty years total
he lives in a tall apartment building
on a finger shape island that probably has
10,000 tourists arriving daily
she from an irregular shaped isle,
twenty five miles as the osprey flies,
and they do,
hers, nestled tween two forks,
and ferry's connecting you to the
"off island" till about 1:00am running,
after that, well, find a beach...
she, in a house,
outback,
behind the
country-package-store-deli
where the
most expensive gas on the island
for sale to touring folk
on the island's main gig highway
that store where
only the localest of locals
come in for
to buy their beer,
and the lost tourist,
looking for free directions
pays for them with expensive gasoline
he has one job
she has three
when not waitressing at Sweet Tomato,
she's planting flowers for the landscapers,
or working the counter at said store
she was prom queen
he did not go to his prom some 45 years ago
Two islands, two people,
one ancient, even borderline old,
one a student studying
modern farm management,
with the future openness of youth,
who won't take down college loans,
the other,
edging closer to his distinct extinction
but they talk for hours,
and he tips her more
than the cost of his meal
and the bottle of Pinot Grigio,
which loosened his tongue,
on a Friday eve
having traveled almost
four ungourmet hours,
to get to the island
he borrows from her,
in the summer time
and two days later,
one is encapsulating
the memory of the meet,
on an island of poetry
and he thinks he will go back
to conversation continue,
but that first meet
well, no repeat,
so he leaves
it's taste
here
for you to share
