a dad, two kids
the latter running for the shade and shelter
of the picnic table--dad strolling behind,
with pizza and crazy bread
one family of a dozen there
in 75 degree Texas sunshine
mid winter, as russet leaves
and calendar attest
now I recall my only picnic
a half century past, where I discovered
peanut butter could be made magical
with marshmallow cream
from this same walking
and waking dream, I see a star
hanging between two oaks, and a sea
of hip hippies dancing, rocking to
mystic chants of their own device
for the music died
long ago, electric and eternal
though we thought it was
today, in a sun drenched park,
it is calm breeze I hear, the sibilant sizzling songs
of my past are long lost in space, but the wickedly wonderful
white goop on that sandwich, I yet taste
with transcendent joy
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 9:13 PM UTC
a dad, two kids
the latter running for the shade and shelter
of the picnic table--dad strolling behind,
with pizza and crazy bread
one family of a dozen there
in 75 degree Texas sunshine
mid winter, as russet leaves
and calendar attest
now I recall my only picnic
a half century past, where I discovered
peanut butter could be made magical
with marshmallow cream
from this same walking
and waking dream, I see a star
hanging between two oaks, and a sea
of hip hippies dancing, rocking to
mystic chants of their own device
for the music died
long ago, electric and eternal
though we thought it was
today, in a sun drenched park,
it is calm breeze I hear, the sibilant sizzling songs
of my past are long lost in space, but the wickedly wonderful
white goop on that sandwich, I yet taste
with transcendent joy
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