The clock read 3 am,
And the street was snoring
When the station wagon bumbled
Into the driveway of the
House with the white railing porch.
Doors opened and slammed shut,
And he looked out the bay window
Towards the house next door
To see who had arrived at this
Ghostly hour.
T’was a girl, with seventeen years
Under her belt, same as he.
She sported a simple brown dress
That was pleated on the bottom,
And he noticed that her feet in those
White sandals were every bit as dainty
And delicate as the rest of her.
Her hair was tucked in a messy bun,
The kind it takes you hours to master
To make it seem like it only took you a few seconds.
He was convinced she hadn't needed practice.
The girl went to her trunk, and pulled out a
Large polka dotted suitcase, the size of
A true adventurer.
Looking closer, he saw how frayed the edges were,
And how the pink background looked almost white
Against the purple dots.
As she wheeled it around and began
Lifting it up the white railed steps,
He noticed maps sprawled all over the dashboard of her station wagon,
Of Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada.
He wished fervently he could see her license plate.
Who was this strange girl?
He had but a lowly Vermont license plate; why was she here?
The clock read 8 am,
And the street was waking up to the smell of bacon and eggs, and
The boy's head was once again
At the bay window, but a surprise awaited him at the house next door.
The station wagon was gone, no trace of it, and the white railed house
Might have even been the quietest house on the block.
The boy threw it away as a dream, but has never been able to forget
The girl with the polka dot suitcase.

The Summer heat
It comes and beats
Down on us inside

We think it will be fun
When school is all done
Yet now we're bored
We feel sad
Ignored

Summer may mean
Less time learning
But it always
Leaves us yearning
For that social interaction we need

So please take heed
To appreciate what you have
It may have some bad parts
But in the end
You will always want
To go back again

i could plan a vacation in the crook of your neck. in the curve of your hand. in the softness of your lips. i’d never need to rent out a home again. never have to sit still in a car. i’d move when you’d move. i’d inhale at your exhale. bury my heart in yours. you’d become a book to me... another way to travel without leaving.

The next poems
Will be shitposts
Because I'm on vacation
Sorry

I'm filled with awkward feelings.
Near me, her face is beautiful.
The crowd is quiet, modest conversations.

Tingling nerves... Good company.

Awoken from a self-inflicted cave.
Obsessing over priorities, not time to myself. Time for me.

Charming and quaint,
These monuments to
Stylized antiquity sit
Parallel a seashore.
Cars of forgotten pasts
Line their facades,
Defending them from
The sea's subdued gaze.

On the streets below,
A crowd as energetic
As the stars themselves
Becomes one with their nature.
Not a beat is skipped,
These pretty pastels
Make the world as
It should be:
In a state of colorful glee.

Tranquility

Before me lies a vastness, it looks much like emptiness
Not within my Heart
Or Upon the ground
It is in the deep blue Indian Ocean, Tranquility is to be found

Noiseless, except for the hum of the boat
In the middle of the Indian Ocean, we float
Basking in the hot golden Sun
Watching Pods of Dolphins, leaping, playful having fun

Life cannot get much better for me
As I float in the middle of the Indian Ocean Sea
I believe I have found my peace, Tranquility

We relaxed by the ocean
Walked on the beach
Laughed until our stomachs hurt
And our eyes streamed
We wrote poetry
Enjoyed some day drinking
And a little night drinking, too
We looked ahead to our future
And back at our long and lovely past
For a brief time we left it all behind
And you and I were all that mattered

Let's do it again