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tonight we gather
to mark a
commencement day

four decades on
from a late June

embraces and
bon voyage wishes

departing a grand
chandeliered Rivoli

to glorious

our bold sails
welling with
in pursuit of
and intrepid

our life
are blessed
with rich
the grace of
challenge and
the gift of days

this evening
as we reconnect
to share the joys
and wisdom gleaned
from well lived lives
we will also celebrate
in multicolored splendor
the lives of classmates
who have commenced
journeys to other

though their
earthly sojourn
is complete
passed friends
remain alive
in our memory

surely the spirits
of the beloved
will walk this
room tonight

forever young
their quiet presence
will gently touch
tender hearts

they’ll appear
as they once looked
on their finest day

and as we relive
the bits of our lives
we shared with
one another

we may feel
the grasp of a
warm hand
as we once did
during that
snowy evening
west end walk

we’ll dance with them again
around Tamblyn Field bonfires
gyrating in a shared
ecstatic ebullience

we’ll applaud most likely
to succeed lives
most beautiful smiles
and crack up
to the hilarity of
class clown jokes

we’ll taste the kiss
of an after dark
Lincoln Park

groove to the
rock steady
beat of a
bad company tune  

we’ll submerge again
in a Yellow Submarine
to embark on an epic
Greenwich Village

we’ll roll down
the shore on old
Thunder Road
windows open
hair blowin
radio blastin

we’ll taste the sweet sip
of Cherry Cokes
and Root Beer floats
at Roadrunners

chasing lost love salty tears
spilled over ***** upperclass home boys
and the soft blush sentiment of a
first French kiss

wouldn't it be nice
to swoon to the
fantasy and
winsome yearnings
of favorite
summer songs

filling our head’s
with mind
blowing collages
team mates
drama club
second takes
heady chess club

we’ll marvel at the disruption of
premillennial breakthrough science projects
created by pocket protected slide ruling
entrepreneurial math wizards

we'll recall droll gossip
by drab hall lockers
dim gym showers
awkward dances
Yippie people power

patriotic assemblies
cool sharp dressers
right on brother
Que Pasa lil sista

rock and roll album covers
Simon and Garfunkel poetics
Go Go Boots kickin
FM radio psychedelics

Midnight Confessions
emphatically blared
from the cafeteria jukebox
Civil Rights, Earth Day
and righteous
anti war activism

tribes of hoods, Ra’s,
jocks, artistes and tie dye hippies
everything is groovy
lets get a sandwich at Ernie’s

first carnal explorations
Moody Blue Tuesday trysts
man could she speak German
boy do I dig her dress

we did hard time together
at split session detention centers
ate chocolate chip cookies
cracked up to Mr. Thomas’s
Ides of March tragedy

took first tokes and
sips of Boones Farm
we partied hard
and did no harm

admired academic brainiacs
and the civic commitment
of student govie reps
shut down the gubmint
was never a threat 

basketball rumbles
Bulldog football
**** Ludwig soccer teams
nimble cheerleaders

leggy majorettes
kick *** marching band fanfares
compelling masquer presentments
Park Avenue wayfarers

they were
crew mates
on The Soul Boat
rode shotgun
to Midnight Rambler
Doobie Concerts

cruised hard in
the Root Hog
Rat Raced Louie
in tiny white Pintos

we booked
many a mile
with our lost

on the road to
this evening

volumes of
fabled odysseys
and fantastic

their stories
are our stories
telling our stories
keeps them alive

some may say
gone too soon
but the measure of
a well lived life
is not counted
in days, nor

but how one has loved
and how much one was loved

quietly there
always with us
forever to be
a wholesome
part of us

as the brothers
from Cooley High
would say

lets tip a sip
for the brothers
and sisters who
ain’t here….

God bless
enjoy the evening
vaya con dios mis amigos

Music Selection:
Pat Metheny
Mas Alla

RHS 74
Class Reunion
Elks Club
Daddy liked his whiskey
Momma liked her smokes
Momma cursed like crazy
Dad told ***** jokes
To all the people 'round here
They was ordinary folks
Momma puffed on camels
Dad drank whiskey cokes

I dropped out of high school
By the time I was fourteen
I had no direction
And I got mighty mean
Sis, she had two babies
But neither one was seen
And to all the people 'round here
We were just both normal teens

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree
You do not want to grow and be like me
Listen to what I tell you, don't you do the things you see
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree
Nope, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree

When ever there is fighting
Folks 'round here go  blind
They all have got their secrets
they don't want us to find
That apples in around their house
Are not quite as designed
It's best to look at others
For the truth, it isn't kind

Momma kept on smoking
Daddy drank his rye
sis and I both left here
No one ever asked them why
Nothing changes ever
so nobody will try
and all the folks around here
live inside this little lie

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree
You do not want to grow and be like me
Listen to what I tell you, don't you do the things you see
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree
Nope, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
zebra Jul 2016
I am Madam *******
ive come to your lair
please come to the table
and pull up a chair

i see you have  guests
theres plenty to eat
look at my ****
start with my feet

collard in silk ,
no ******* i ware
am i not gorgeous
do you like my hair

plump ******* spill out
manicured toes
take a bite
ill hold a pose

demonic friends
need love too
thrilled at there sight
my **** turns to goo

curtsy smiling
manners i have
ive come to be eaten
do you like calve

brain washed im not
death is for me
a nice hot oven
i hope you like ***

to my dinner guests
i bow and i scrape
i like it so much
you cant call it ****

as the guest of honor
soon to be eaten
i receive an ovation
tenderized and beaten

slit her gut open
shes a feast they cry
what a **** ***
shes begging to die

removing my robe
legs spread apart
on the table face down
please tear me apart

hands are clamped
and ankles secured ...
my head lifted
you'd like me cured

head on a block
knees pushed up so
*** is perched
would you like a toe

hands outstretched
i'm pretty when i smile
split me open
excuse my bile

at the dinner party
all howl with delight
as she cries **** me, please
shes so sweet and shes tight

we come from behind
our ***** in her ***
she farts like a bugle
oh wow its mass

hell where demons
with lots of hot ****
poops on the table
let's drink some more ***

come **** me sweet
you're so bad
tear me to pieces
is your name Vlad

**** down my throat
cut my belly to pieces
unwind my intestine
eat my fices

my eyes are candy
pull them out of my head
get out the soy sauce
i love to be dead

stick a spike up my ***
send me to hell
light me on fire
i'm in a spell

two buttery *****
in my mouth at one time
with hot lava devils
******* me blind

two up my *******
long daddy strokes
oh hell yeah
have a couple of cokes

working my ****
licking my ****
slow cook me
i look good on a spit

being ******
and pulled apart
its so much fun
it must be art

it's getting intense
i think i feel sick
my **** run through
please have a lick

it's time for the end
get the big knife
finish me, honey
i'm tired of life

the guest gather round
for the crescendo, the ****
out pours my blood
oh what a thrill

i'm ready for the oven
i go in still alive
turned up to 450
i blister and writhe

I am Madam *******
i've come to your lair
please come to the table
and pull up a chair

dinner is served
Latiaaa Mar 2014
It was the midsummer of the 50’s and my girls and I went out for a bite. Jimmy’s Burgers was a block away and boy were we hungry! We could eat a cow for all we know. Jimmy’s jukebox can play music day in and day out.

My girls and I parked our blue Thunderbird Convertible, and hopped on in Jimmy’s. That place is always filled with younglings like us. You can smell the fresh potato cut fries fryin’ up in the greasers. The burgers are always my fave! I would beg to just get a bite out of those succulent, juicy ground babies.

Everyone in this joint always seems to be dancing their little feet off, the girls with their casual oxfords and pastel loose skirts; the guys wearing leather, pompadours, and their high-wasted pants. I love to crank that jukebox with only my quarters and dimes I have left in my purse. The girls and I sat on down in one of the red booths. A young waiter came over with bottles of coke with his pen and paper.

“May I take ya’ll lovely ladies’ order?” He was chewing on that mint gum.

Boy was he handsome! That sweet southern twine had me going bonkers. He looked all fancy in his all white uniform; his apron had ice cream stains and fry grease. His sandy brown hair was cascading behind his ears. I loved his paper hat too. His big brown eyes were looking into mine as he was getting our orders. I couldn’t help but stare back. He gave us our cokes and gave me a little wink behind his thick black glasses. I really didn’t care bout’ those pimples, his face made a girl melt like Texas asphalt on a hot beach afternoon!

I made myself look sweeter than a peach. I fluffed my hair and fancied my outfit, hoping for that rascal to come on back. The jukebox was still kicking tunes in the back, that’s when the cute waiter came back.  His tall, slender, perfect body walked on over and sat our tray of burgers down. My face was red hot like the time I first took a bite out of a chili pepper. The waiter got close to my ear and whispered,

“You wouldn’t mind if I take your sweet self on the dance floor for a second would you?”

Wasn’t that boy supposed to be working? I didn’t care. That rascal waiter grabbed my hand and swung my little waist on the dance floor. We twist, kicked, and shimmied. I was having the time of my life! I didn’t know my girls were staring at me, cheering on. Too bad the cutie had to go back to work. I walked over and sat back in the booth.

My girls were giving me the, you’re his sugar girl look. Not my fault he was sweeter than maple syrup!
The girls and I were finished at Jimmy’s Burgers, so we started to head out. Before I even opened the door, that waiter grabbed me by the waist and said,

“Hey sweet thing, leaving too soon? I didn’t catch your name?”

I looked into those eyes again; I felt my heart skip a beat like the jukebox when there’s a bug in it. His southern twine again,

“My name’s Robert James, but you can call me RJ.”

He kissed my hand and gave me that wink again. I gave him a smile and went outside. My face was peachy like a baby’s bottom! I didn’t even tell him my name, dog-gon shame.  From now on, I’m hittin’ Jimmy’s Burgers just so I can see that waiter.
I'm obsessed with the 50's era lol. Had to write this <3
Give me a Coca Cola party number 1
And boot conservos up the ***
All they care is their 4 bedroom house yeah mate yeah
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 2
As we watch the singer do the boogaloo and then we crack open that bottle and spray it on
Their uncle oh how cool
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 3
Simon finally puts up the Christmas tree
First he puts the tinsel and then the bells and an angel to go on top ph yeseree
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 5
After those 5 cokes I feel alive
I jump up and down to every song I heard on the radio
Nice and high
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 6
The nice Coca Cola will give me
A nice sugar fix
As I slam it down, it goes through my body
Yeah if also rots my teeth
Give me a Coca Cola party number 7
Coke is so bad for you I want to send if to oblivion
But the more I see santa or Sydney swans or the big Coke truck red and white is the key
Give me a Coca Cola party number 8
Instead of roast dinners I prefer Cola lollies on my plate
You see as I ate each one
I sank into a garlic naan
The lollies gave it a sweet taste
Give me a Coca Cola party number 9
I would take my Coke and walk around the party introducing myself saying hi, my name is Brian and I told one man I hate the liberal party
Cause they don't like the poor
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 10
While doing your tapestry you have your 2 litre Coke near you like your one of the real men
But people say cokes a kids drink and I say to you this
****** oathe I am a cool kid
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 11
If you keep drinking that stuff
You'll end up in heaven
But not in a good way
You will be with tony Grieg
And Norman may
How cools that
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 12
Have a few quite cokes with santa and his elves
After Christmas Day
When they load all the presents into the sleigh
Party party party
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 13
If the Coca Cola party was a kid
He would be finally in his teens
But he will say to his uncle
Have I got the muscle
To enjoy drinking Coke oh yeah
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 14
Every kid was nice to people
But me mate I was really naughty
So santa gave me no presents
And scounged around my house for money
To buy a nice 2 litre bottle
Of Coke
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 15
When I go for a run I feel tired
And a bit sweaty
The Coke slows me down mate
Please don't lose your entire
Top row mate stop drinking Coke
Merry Christmas Coke lovers
Past and present
Andrew T Apr 2016
Washingtonians, this Wednesday afternoon, come to the Starbucks on 1600 K Street to become acquainted with some young, interesting, average income level Asian American guys and gals. Instead of meeting Asian American doctors, lawyers, and consultants, you’ll meet Dr. Dre copycats, alcoholic paralegals, and T-Mobile wireless salespeople.

These guys and gals are looking to meet new friends that include: white, black, Hispanic, or any other race of people, just as long as you aren’t a F.O.B. Because after all, they don’t want to perpetuate the stereotype that Asians only hang out with other Asians. Just kidding, we love our F.O.B brothers and sisters! But **** stereotypes.

If you are a Washingtonian who likes drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana, stop by and make a new Asian American friend who will provide mixers and match you on a blunt. Please, do not ask these guys and gals for college study notes for Math or Bio, because all of them have dropped out of college to pursue their artistic passions, like: writing a novel about having a white group of friends and being the token who reads Tolkien and likes Toking; playing electric guitar in a grunge, punk, post-emo garage band with your black buddies who like Fugazi and bad brains but ******* hate Green day for selling out; and drawing sketches and painting portraits of the half-Asian girl you’re dating on a wide canvass, but really you’re secretly into selfies and taking photos of breakfast on Instagram.

We don’t discriminate against the kind of alcohol you drink, whether it be wine, beer, or liquor—within reason please don’t bring Franzia or Rolling rock, this isn’t college anymore. Yes, we get it, you’re highly considering attending this group because you’re a huge Haruki Murakami fan and you’re wondering two questions: are our Japanese American patrons also huge fans of the author, and do our patrons behave in a similar fashion to Murakami’s characters like Toru Watanabe and Toru Okada?

First, our Japanese American patrons are huge fans of Murakami and they own books like Sputnik Sweetheart and The Windup Bird Chronicle, but they also think the author often is obsessed with Western culture, in a way that possibly, and seriously possibly transforms him into a Brett Easton Ellis derivative based on Ellis’s American ****** and Glamorama.

Second, no these particular patrons do not behave like Murakami’s characters, because they’re real, living, breathing human beings, and not some fantasy figure or made-up person! But enough of the rant, please come though and let’s have conversations about jazz and talking cats.

While we respect Asian American actors like Ken Jeong and Randall Park, we really aren’t interested in having a lengthy dialogue about The Hangover’s Asian **** scene, or how Park was kinda offensively funny in The Interview. Although Park is awesome in Fresh Off The boat! All we really want is to just drink jack and cokes and smoke Marlboro lights and have conversations about the latest trends in indie rock and Hip Hop culture, and whether Citizen Kane was better than Casablanca, or vice versa.

At the meeting, we will have our guest speaker Jeremy Lin’s college roommate George Park answer questions about Lin, as well as a special appearance by Steve Yuen’s ex-girlfriend Marcy Abernathy who will give us an inside scoop to Yuen’s fetishes as well as his quirky habits. We will also be providing free snacks like LSD Pho noodle soup and Marijuana Mochi ice-cream. On a serious note, we’ll be giving out guilt-free Twinkies.

Before you arrive at the Starbucks, you’ll be getting a name tag and a free A.A.A T-shirt that wasn’t made by little children from China; instead, the shirts are made by Ronald Mai, our aspiring fashion designer whose twitter handle is @thatsmyshirtwhiteman! If you’re interested in coming out to the group our first meeting is this Wednesday at 6 p.m.

Leave your apprehension at the door and walk in with a warm smile, as you’re greeted by an expressionless face. And phoreal if your car is messed up and you require a ride, please call A.A.A’s number at (202) 576-2AAA (we know we’re phunny). Hope to see you there, and if you don’t come, you’re a ******* racist! But seriously come out and meet some cool *** people.
Daniel James Feb 2011
She was fire, I was water
And we made sweet condensation
The day, the month we met.
She turned me into steam,
Pure steam, in April, no less.
I quenched her raging thirst (I won’t forget)
We drank each other’s smoke
And sparked up *** and cokes
I took her fizz for fire
She took my ironic dampness for jokes.

At first,
All was elemental
And if she burned the bread I called it toast
And if water weighed her down we just got soaked
I did not try to put her out
She did not try to make me burn.

We’re not so different, said the fire,
One day to the water
I could see this month ignite,
Make a bonfire of our lives
We could sit there like a house on fire
Extinguished and set alight at the same time
I flowed around the idea and warmed to it
So I moved in and every day
I put the fire out that she had made
And every night she blazed
The oases that my love had made.
Until one evening Fire said,
While water brushed his teeth,
“Turn off the tap”.
And water, being fairly fluid in his actions
Did in fact for five years turn off that tap
In front of her at least, but behind her back…
I let it run,
                  let it go
                                 let it flow


And it was not until the 1000th time
That something clicked
And the millioneth drip overflowed the empty sink
And I responded to her claim:
“We’re not so same.” I said.
She, understandably, had not consumed the context
As we’d just been talking about a friend in massive debt
Because of negative equity.
But now the tap was on,
“I’ll brush the teeth in this relationship
Or I’ll be ******!” Water flowed.
The tap was gushing now, the mirror fogged -
The drains were leaking back up out the bog
“For one thing, fire’s not a thing –
Me? I’m hydrogen and oxygen too
But you? You’re no thing, no thing at all.”
“What?” She said.
I couldn’t understand
How she didn’t understand.
I flowed right on down… right on down to land –
I was seeking earth, not fire, earth!
I’d been seeking earth all my life
And not realized until tonight – that night – tonight.
“And for a second thing – Fire’s so loud!
Crackling! Always with the constant crackle
Always eating, heating or causing hassle
Everything’s a hazard or an all-consuming passion
If we just kept calm, it could all be fine
But your fiery fingers always dialing 999.

“Right.” She said. “I see where you’re going here –
You’re saying I’m like fire – FIRE?!”
I said, Jeez we’re 3 pages in already,
I was hoping that much was clear.”
“FIRE?” She bellowed.
“Fire?” She scorched.
“******, he wrote.” I said.
“What are you talking about?” She asked.
“Just a poem I’m writing – it was a funny line, trust me.”
“Says Mr. Water?” She says, looking over my shoulder,
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You might,” I say. “Anyway, Mr Water, what do you mean?”
“I don’t know, you wrote it, perhaps you can tell me.”
“You meant, by what I wrote, that water’s not known for jokes,
It’s too clear and see through to cause a face poke”
“And that’s the best water-related joke that you know?”
“No. But you just remember who is writing the poem.” I say,
Expecting a laugh.
No laugh.

Then she apologized and very humbly gave me the floor.
After (storming off upstairs and slamming the door and) pointing out
That all water does is sit around
And weigh things down
Making clothes darker and heavier
Surrounding everything with its slowly moulding love
And rather than consuming it up
Firing it up
Sparking it up
Burning and blazing ‘n
Combusting it up!
Water sits.
On what it loves
Which is down
And weighs it down with love
Envelopping it from sides and above
Surrounding it from five sides
And leaving only one way out for its victim –

I thought around it while she fried herself in perspiration
And I could see how she was not wrong
And I could see how she was not right
For I could see that I clearly was water
And I could see all sides – “I can see.” I said,
And should have left it there, “everyside of what you say –
I can see everything but your true… bottom.

Now when fire alights on bottom,
No thought can put it out
So we rejoin the action
An unspecified –but quite long- time later.
And when the steam settles,
Not much has changed.
The conversation resumes, Ground-hog style,
Ground-hog style, a year later, in a different flat.
“At least I have some substance!”
And again comes the tide I cannot hold back –
“At least I am a thing, I can be happy, I can be,
I’m not just a process, just an action, with an appetite for trees.
I’m not afraid of silence either.”
“Afraid of it? You saturate it!
You smother everything in silence
That’s why you like the snow –
I like the kind of weather that makes
Strangers take off all their clothes.
I like the crackle of the campfire
I like the chatter of friendly teeth in need of heat
I am ambitious, I need the next thing to consume
And yes I like being high and aiming higher –
With you it’s always down down down.
Sitting down,
Calming down,
Going down…
And when she said those magic words
I took the heat that I had heard
And channeled it like she could never do
Being a process and not a thing like me.
Channels are made of things directing process
I took her heat and channeled it
And all because
Those magic words
Going down.
No one likes a love that is damp she said
And so I made her fire wet
And all the while, during, after
We lay and drank in pools of laughter
We were liquid fire flowing
Every night the bed an ocean
The weather inside, hmm… snowing
Warm snowballs of love
Snowflakes of love
Snowflakes of fire
“Higher” She scorched, “ take me higher!”
“No you go down –“ I heard it spoken
And just like that the spell was broken.

I rippled, reflecting the ceiling for a while
In a silence even I could not contain
She processed the surroundings, the curtains, the rain
And burned them back to ash again.
An hour passed.
I was betting that she
Would internally combust
Before I drowned myself
To death in silence
Another hour passed
Ever so
Slowly. Not fast,
But slowly.

Then luckily,
12hrs passed in no time at all for me
In fact, I only awoke because my ears were burning me.
“Have you been asleep all this time?” they sizzled.
“Sorry,” I said, before I’d even had a chance
To remember the argument
And with that rather C-list magic word,
The matter was moderated, thirst quenched, problem passed.

Water sat there boiling.
Fire fumed there drenched.

“I’m not sure I can do this much longer.”
Said water to fire.
“I feel I am spreading myself too thinly on you.”

“You are.” Said fire.

“I don’t like being spread thin.
I see less of the world reflected
In my shrinking puddle.

“Light up my life again!” She burned.
“I can not.”
“Will not.”

“Will not is cannot.”

“Cannot is not will not.”

“Cannot is not will not does not make sense.”

“Does not.”
“Agree to differ?”




         draining away from me.”

“You’re going up

And with that, one morning, they both woke up.

Carmelo Antone Apr 2012
Leashed by loves lynch till I’m dropped by my lack of respect for the beauty’s presence
Thank god she wasn’t curbside taking tips with perked lips for a stranger’s ****** fix,
But I needed to feel the evidence that the pieces fit,
That’s why this is about me and a barstool princess

Getting close enough to taste the moans of *****’s venom
Get close enough so I can know my needs can be fulfilled

Like a lunar eclipse this species keeps grinding its teeth when teased
Time and time again we’ve been taunted by,
The mistress our ancestors once described as the serpent of Eve,  
When procreation was preached as an STD

Yet we’ve been perpetually pivoting,
To defy the chastity of a species

Grandfathered misconceptions relating to why you and I exist  
As wickedness warms in the covers of the lustfully parallel
So let’s drown in this bliss,

From head to toe, eye caught, grazes at the nose,
From the bar stool to a lonely man’s home,
From one dollar tips for two *** and cokes
To the bedroom of this writing,
The nights like this, that remind me I am alone

But this isn’t about me loathing the fact that I won’t hear her whispering for more body warmth,
Nor am I looking for you to pity me because I’ll be sleeping solo
Enough is enough since we are humans seeking ****** catacombs

I’ll try to be an adult about how the human molds but it started me at childhood,
When those that conceptualized love gave me this world,
And now I no longer have to listen to what I’ve been told

This is about how to perceive something we can never truly control,
Lucky enough to avoid a contraceptive despite unable to remember the doctor’s pull,
Its night’s like this I get to question,
When will my sheets meet the perfect fit?
When will this be more than just a humanizing fix?
spysgrandson Jun 2013
the old stone walls are still standing
though they no longer echo with sounds
of cornball jokes, bottle caps poppin’ off cokes
and the happy humming of a repaired motor
the old man was there when
the first car pulled in for gas  
28 cents a gallon, all fluids checked for free
spotless windshield guaranteed  
he hired that Mexican boy because he was polite
yes sir, and was the best **** 20 year old
grease monkey in the county
(hell, the state)
boy had one leg shorter than the other  
and had him a twin brother
whose two fine legs carried him that place,
somewhere between honor and complete disgrace,
called Vee-et-nam
but those strong legs couldn’t bring him home  
he come back in a box,
both his good legs blown clear off  

he hired Lolo the day before
his brother come home      
was hot as Hades at that graveside  
but he went and stood by the boy,
his sobbing mama, his sober father
and the hot hole in the caliche
where his brother was gonna spend

business was good  
the boy spent most of his time
under the hood
of Riley’s ‘51 Ford
or Miss Sampson’s Impala,
(white 1962, with red interior, clean as the day she bought it)  
Nixon beat that old boy from Minnesota  
told everybody he would end that crazy Asian war  
the right way  
but the old man had been
in those foul trenches in France,
killin’ krauts when he was 18  
and he knew there was
no “right” way  

he and the boy had many a good day
with the register cling-clanging,
mechanical mysteries being solved  
and a good hot lunch now and then
when the boy’s mama brought  
fresh tortillas and asada
or the old man would spring
for chicken fried steak sandwiches from the café

yes, many a good day

that hot July afternoon  
the day after we landed on the moon
when “they” came  
not from some lunar rock  
but from an El Paso *******  
where graffiti were their psalms
and switchblade knives their toys  
“they” came,
parked their idling ‘57 Chevy in front of the bay,
and bust through the front door
with a gun and a ball bat  
both had hair slicked back
with what looked like 30 weight oil,
“they” smiled, and smelled
of beer and sweat  
“Dame el dinero! Give us the money!
Give us the money old man, cabron!”  
the old man glared at them  
the bat came down and grazed his head,
cracked his shoulder  
“they” did not see the boy with the wrench
who laid the bad *** batter out
with one righteous swing  
the one with the gun did not aim
but pulled the trigger three times  
and two of those hot speeding streams
sliced through the boy’s throat  
the shooter was through the door and burning rubber
while the boy lay bleeding red blood
on the green linoleum floor  
the old man knelt over him, helpless  
saw his eyes close a final time
while the sting of the burned rubber
was still in his nose, and the hellish screech
of the tires still in his ears  

the old man had seen the dead before
piled in heaps in the dung and mud
of those trenches, faces bloated
with their last gasps from the nightmare gas  
but he hadn’t shed a tear
in the pale pall of the dead  
until that hot July day, with a man on the moon, all those miles away
and the best boy with a wrench in the whole state, Lolo,  
silent on the floor in front of him  

they caught the shooter
(sent him to Huntsville for a permanent vacation)
the one Lolo laid out with a wrench died
on the way to Thomason Hospital in El Paso
the ambulance driver was Lolo’s cousin  
and he may have been driving a bit slow    

Lolo was buried the day they came back from the moon
right beside his brother in that ancient caliche
his mother sobbed softly, “mi hjos, mi hijos”  
both boys now cut down
her left with prayers
and memories…  
the boys at the ballpark
their first communions
the grandchildren she would not have  
and the gray graves where they
would return to dust  

the Saturday after, the old man turned 69  
when he flipped his open sign to closed that day, he  
climbed the ladder slowly, painted over his store bought sign
with new white wash,
and red lettered it with “Lolo’s”  
not a person asked
about him using the dead boy’s name  
and things would never be the same    

the old man lasted another nine years  
until the convenience store started sellin’ gas
(they wouldn’t even pump)  
his hands were stiff with arthritis
and his shoulder stilled ached from the crack of the bat  
he closed on a windy winter Friday  
yet painted the sign
a final time that very day  
nearly falling, as he made the last red “S”  
but he made it down the ladder that last time  
and saw the boy’s name in his rear view
as he drove into the winter dusk
Inspired by a picture of  a long abandoned filling station in a small west Texas town--please note, though the name of the station is real, the characters and events are completely fictional creations of the author
The call center Bunny cannot sit Still.
He's a t-t-t-twitchy *******
with an Easter Grill.
His foot just thumps, and thumps, and thumps, and thumps until.
Receiving a call, now it's ***** to the wall.
He's Makin' a Deal.

Welcome to the Magic Bean order center My name is thump~

Tricks are for kids.
I'm 100 years old tomorrow,
I'm not placing a bid.
I'm calling about that free sample,
can you do that or not?"
"Brace for impact boys" Says Thumper.
"She's coming in hot."

Up to the plate with Rapport.
A ******* and a Miss.
"That's a great question, deary."
As he lights up a spliff.
Now the Dinosaur responded,
Well it was more like roaring.
Through the headset this woman
Led on quite a story
Most men would be huffing and puffing as she blew their house down.
But thumper sat there patiently
Turned her frown right around.

He pulled a lot more than grass
Out of his basket of Candy
"Listen here, kiddo.
You have a chance to be happy."
Get a Bunny enough paint.
He turns ******' Picasso.
"What's that beautiful?
You gonna let that rock go?"

"If you mail your wedding ring today.
We'll throw in an extra back bone."

This ******' rabbit Is tamin' raptors
on the phone like Chris Pratt.
He reads The wrap-up verbatim
Then does a victory lap.

The call center Bunny cannot sit Still.
He's a t-t-t-twitchy *******
with an Easter Grill.
His foot just thumps, and thumps, and thumps, and thumps until.
"Hey Thumper."
His little bunny smirk seems to
Spot himself a thrill.

"Seems like everybunny here is taking' Adderall."
So he pops and he smokes
He snorts and he cokes.
lines back up
with a wink, a pill, a couple less bucks.

Waves goodbye to the boss.
Swivels down in his spinny spot.
Snaps one headphone to his ear hole
Then stares attentive at the clock.

Tick tock tick
The bunny vibrates as he wait.
Usually he not so wide eyed
more drifting or asleep.
big white dress feet over
keyboard and mouse.
His tie pulled loose,
his ego is out.
The Pink bunny looks
seems to whistle and shout.
The bathroom stall is empty
where they usually hang out.
So they set AQE.
Though their meeting be brief.
It was Tactical.
***** relief.
With her cotton tail up,
Her skirt to her knees.
Their paws on their flaws
A nibble for His carrot
Her Cadbury thong.
Got this pink bunny dialing
up against the wall.
you heard the thump, and thump, and thump, and thump and call.

For The call center Bunny
who can NOT sit Still.
He's a t-t-t-twitchy *******
with an Easter Grill.
Her foot just thumps, and thumps, and thumps, and thumps until.
Receiving a call, now it's ***** to the wall. She's Makin' a Deal
This Poem Is not about Thumper.
Ruby Harrison Jan 2010
Since fifty-eight
the jaycees come
rounding up rattlers
in Sweetwater, folk from all over
for a weekend in March
when snakes leave the hibernaculum
and slide back up
into west Texas and the wind.

Mr. Herrera knew his Luis and I
rode the seven-thirty bus,
had cokes and potato chip sandwiches
with Mitchell and Thomas
after Sunday school,
shot jackrabbits that ate alfalfa
in the dairy pastures.

Dad said he reckoned,
so I took Mr. Herrera’s apron
and offer and brought my knife
that Luis sharpened to a razor
and shaved his forearm hairs with.  
Frank tried that once,
sliced himself like a tomato
when he slipped.

Snake shop’s a butchery,
down the main street
past the dairy mart
and primary school,
in the yellow open scrub.  
If buzzards had noses like dogs
they’d flock, smell that
snake blood from Mexico.

Rattlesnake skinning
is all stringy guts, soft skin,
pulled teeth and poison
squeezed out of gum sockets
like milk from an old cow’s ****.  
Fancy skins with eyeholes
and lips cost ten,
specialty of Mr. Herrera.
Headless strip plus rattle
just two dollars the foot.
Cut the belly lengthwise
and rip,
easy near the backbone
where it catches.  

Out-of-towners buy anything.
Wallets, boots, belts with snakeskin
sewed or tacked on,
lucky rattles, picture frames
for proof of their longest catch.  
God-fearing jaycees doing good
for our communities will eat
deep-fried snake meat,
like tough old chicken,
but good with black-eyed peas
and sweet tea on the side.  

The women even come
once the round-up is done,
the church women, the Jesus women
with belief
and pistachio pudding
with marshmallows,
like Mrs. Howard
who shrieked “Boyd!”
and lectured about hygiene
when she saw me in my apron
and ****** to my elbows,
menacing the street.  

The biggest round-up days
we worked late, past midnight.
Past the dairy mart hours,
so once the skins
were all peeled and stretched
and the sticky linoleum
hosed down some,
Luis and I walked back through town,
deserted, dark

except lights from Roscoe and Roby
and even big Abilene
miles away, shining
across the flat nothing,
coyotes yip yip yipping
somewhere near the lake farther north.

Luis showed me how to eat peanuts
shells and all
and let me try on his brother’s
high school letter jacket.  
Late night in Sweetwater is a nothing.  
The wind never stops blowing,
and there’s nobody else
on the ******* planet.
Terry Collett Oct 2015
Lizbeth was in town
on the Saturday
when I got off the bus
and she came up and said

thought I'd see you
in town today
as you come
most Saturdays

with your mother
and such
and how are you?
you ok?

I said
trying to see
where my mother'd

gone and looked for her
Lizbeth said
can we go to that cafe
in the high street

and have a coke
or lemonade or something
will your mother mind
me hogging you

it's not as though
I have you all the time
at least I know I don't?
I found my mother

by the bank
and I asked
ok to go with Lizbeth
for a coke at the cafe

yes it's all right
Mum said
I'll get the shopping
and meet you later  

I said
and off she went
and so I walked off

with Lizbeth
and she put her arm
under mine
and hugged me close

and said
I dreamed
of you last night
did you?

I asked
no you wouldn't let me
she said smiling
nothing new there then

she said laughing
I felt her pull me
onto her body
her small ****

brushing against me
when she got close
and she said
I thought I'd wait

for your bus into town
and try get time with you
and I know we can't
make up here and

there's no time to get
you home to my place
for a go at it
because my mother's

there still **** her
but anyway
I can see you
and pretend tonight

when I'm in bed
that we made out there
or maybe imagine us
making out at back

of the cafe
and o
she said laughing
can you imagine that

us two doing it
back there?
I tried not to
tried to see

if there was any
good buns in the cafe
and a coke
and the lady behind

the counter said
yes what would
you like?

Lizbeth said
but he won't
and the lady said
what ?

and I said
2 cokes and 2 iced buns please
and the lady looked
at Lizbeth and thought

God knows what
not that Lizbeth
cared a  hoot
so we got our cokes

and iced buns
and sat in a seat
by the window
and she sat next to me

and her knee
was against mine
warm and soft
and I said

how are things at home?
o the same
she said  
my mother still moans

about the state
of my room
and keeping it tidy
and wearing my dress

or skirt too short
and o
she said
you can't wear that

it shows too much
and she gets me down
with her moans
and her headaches

and anyway let's
not talk of her
let's talk about us
and what we can do

or not do
I know what I'd
like us to do
but well there's

no where
and I said
how's your dad?
o he's ok

he's away as much
as he's home
but there you go
can't have too much

of a good thing
and besides
he doesn't say much
about me or my room

or my dresses or skirts  
being too short
so he's ok
and we drank our cokes

and ate the buns
and her knee pushed
against mine
and I smelt her perfume

and it was arousing
and I thought of my mother
and the shopping
and when to help her

and said
best go soon
my Mother'll need me

Lizbeth said softly
I need you too
but I had to go
a boy and has to do
what a boy has to do.
Terry Collett Dec 2015
That time we went to Fez
and you said
it's like Biblical times
all these fecking donkeys
and camels and people
dressed like Jesus
I said to Miriam

so it was my first time
and we had to leave
the vehicle outside
the gates of the city
she said

we were sitting
at the Moroccan bar
of the camp base
sipping cokes
and had French loaf
sandwiches on plates
beside us

but it was good
I said
and that mosque
I went in was great  
I had to take off
my sandals mind you
but hey the site
inside was good

I didn't go in
but that market
was out of this world
she said

she sat on a stool
beside me sipping her coke
she had a pink tee shirt
and red shorts
-I loved red-
and bare feet

I looked at the feet
recalling mouthing
her toes that night
in Malaga after
the shower
at the camp base there
and well the rest followed

I bit into the French roll sandwich
cold lamb meat
and some kind of pickle

those women wore
those black gown things
she said
could only see their eyes
I don't think I could wear
one of those
I like to be seen
and why bother
to wear make up
or wear something skimpy
if you've got one
of those on
she said

they don't I guess
that's their religion
I said

she bit into her French roll
and was silent

she smelt
of apples and hay
and I could have licked her
but we sat and ate
and thought of the beach
and moon and stars
and ***
if not too late.
Daniel Jul 2014
She was fine...
until she noticed what the other girls were wearing
that her clothes were bigger, baggier, they covered more skin
that her hair wasn't curled, dyed, or styled in a special way
that she had no make up or nail polish
that guys would stare at girls that weren't like her

Thoughts were multiplying like roaches that crawled across pavements soaked in the cokes that she was drinking
Some were constant
like how she wasn't good enough because she wasn't cute or pretty or skinny
that the faces that she made in photos weren't attractive
guys called it creepy
her friends knew it wasn't cute
She started hating standing next to girls who were all prettier than her
She hated photos
Skipped out on graduation
Never went to formals
and never wanted to dress up

She weighs herself after every meal hoping that numbers would crunch down
that a gap would from between her thighs
that her arms looked smaller when she wore T-shirts
that she wouldn't have to be so hungry after she puked
3 days, 4, 7...
that somebody would love her instead of having to end up being anorexic or bulimic
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
"All the cokes are the same
and all cokes are good"

"Everybody looks alike and acts alike,
and we're getting more and more that way."*

Andy Warhol
you read and
you are not read

the numbers,
add up or they don't

I will never write a

here and there
an authentic voice,
amidst all the
mass produced in "The Factory"

I get it, Andy,
I hate Coke,
I hate cheap and easy writings,
the most assuredly not,
real thing

I will never give them what they want,
only what they don't want
to hear

Belle Aug 2017
these are not monsters. there are no monsters here.
these feel like love, and when they enter you
they feel like something that was once missing is finally home.
how could monsters make such pretty girls?
such pretty girls,
such pretty skinny girls,
they look like the most glamorous parts of life. like everything
that is wonderful about being alive,
like diet cokes
and pictures of hip bones on a sunny, sandy day at the beach
here i am and all i’ve eaten for the past three days is my own fingernails
and these not monsters
can make you beautiful too.

you’ll learn to make jokes about why you’re cutting
the banana you brought for lunch
(and breakfast, and dinner)
into thirty-five pieces.
bringing the tiny pieces to your mouth from
folded napkin with exquisite fingers
to tentative tongue
and when the jokes become too unmanageable,
and taste too much like sustenance,
like letting go, like pleasure,
learn to put a stand hold to lunch,
forget what it means and
by the end of your senior year
you’ll know every spot in that school of yours
where no one will ask where your peers are
and why you look so tired,
and so sad

the not monsters
will tell you all their secrets.
you’ll learn that toothpick thin bones, when crushed
into ashes and stirred into
the twenty, thirty, forty glasses of water you planned on drinking today
taste like sweet, sweet lemonade
and you can drink it
for only the cost of the rest of your waking life spent praising
the feeling of emptiness
looking up number after number
and dead girl after number
you, too, can spend the rest
of your day smelling of what
you just had to flush down the
bathroom toilet.

go, they will tell you,
boney shaking hands, bottle cap wrists
make sure to memorize menus and all the lies you will have to tell
spend hours at the grocery store obsessing and counting
one hundred
two hundred
no more than three, of course
or else your thighs begin to blow up like the balloons
from all the parties you could never go to
you will learn to avoid celebration
because celebration means food
cake, chips, soda, foods you simply cannot consume
you will spend christmas day
dreaming about burying
your dissolving teeth into your knuckles and biting at your shirt
until your heart stops.

the not monsters
will feed you your first cigarette
and your second, and your tenth.
they will leave your once healthy and shiny hair
in a clump
on your pillowcase, just for you.
in your friends hand, while being braided.

and when your body gets too frail,
it starts to fall apart,
but where sick breaks skin
flowers will grow.
an entire garden will rise and grow
itself from your empty, malnourished stomach
rippling out your mouth and you’ll choke on the flowers
but you’ll be joyous
because at least you’re not consuming calories.
you’ll disintegrate
until you cannot be seen differently
from all the skeletons that are currently
living in your closet
don’t you just wish you could shrink
don’t you wish you could have that control
don’t you just wish you could make nobody know about this
because they just don't get why you’d do this
you don’t get why you’d do this
you’re so so smart but you just googled
how many calories are in mouth wash
the pretty girls
pretty skinny girls
pretty dying girls
pretty dead girls
the parasite can be restrained but it cannot not destroyed.
but it does not even matter.
it’s a beautiful thing to be made of porcelain. to be fragile. delicate. beautiful.
the picture of your hip bones at the beach was worth it.
Terry Collett Jul 2013
As you sit in the cafe
in the shopping mall
you see Sophie
and her man friend

smooching across
the table
he with moustache
and thinning

combed back hair
and she
with dark black hair
straight to the collar

of her white blouse
they purse their lips
he closes his eyes
leans forward

she likewise
as if
in some French cafe  
in some 1950s film

you sip your latte
watch the show
he once worked
pushing trolleys

in some super store
she unsure
but with a carer
sometimes seen

walking the mall
or in the bank
or shops
and some days

she’ll come up
and say hello
in a loud voice
as if she’d not

seen you
in a thousand years
other days not at all
or she’ll tell you

some news
about her life
or some small trouble
that’s got her down

today she sits
and kisses
and converses
with the man friend

and he’ll laugh
and maybe she too
and hold hands
over the cokes and cakes

you sit back
in the chair
and watch them there
repeat their kissing

or holding hands
the Romeo eyes
now open
leaning near

mouthing words
you cannot hear
she lips still pursed
says loudly

of a love
she feels
or how hot
the weather is

or how his scarf
untidy looks
or unbuttoned shirt
others who do not

know them sit
and gawk
and make snide comment
behind their hands

make judgement
in their bourgeoisie world
but you like others
who know them of old

sit and drink
and make no judgements
of what they say
or do but watch

the kissing
and holding of hands
like in a B feature
at the cinema

waiting for
the real thing maybe
but content to see
the movie through

having no where to go
or other things to do.
Hal Loyd Denton Apr 2013
It wasn’t chance or accident that Walt found you it was destiny his genius needed a perfect
Form of expression and you were the one that met and exceeded all the requirements your
Favorite song to sing as a child was the hit Jonny Mercer song accentuate the positive little did
You know that you would not only sing it but be asked to live it and you did this as a true marvel
With grace and charm you said the Mickey Mouse club was a slightly better version that what
America really was then you went on to say that America even is gone forever but in the
Encroaching darkness you carried the fragile lamp of purity and modesty it was the harking
Back to innocence so precious and held in such reverence the rock songs were about young
Love holding hands in the silver moonlight carried along on a river of dreams infatuation it
Showed in that special time of being a teenager not a child but not an adult it was the ultimate
Carefree high that didn’t mean you were ****** you were just grooving hot rods and babes
That Knocked your socks off you wondered around in a stupor all you could think was how
Could anyone be so fabulous maybe they made those clothes out of magic cloth and thread
Sweaters white blouses poodle skirts or not bobby socks and black patent leather shoes sock
Hops Friday afternoon in this reality freedom was the it word fast cars girls were cool may I say
Winsome and not be booed all you wanted was to be with them get to know them they were
Exciting they were worthwhile and they sent you tripping cherry cokes was the drink no one
Ever made a fool out of themselves that came natural when you would stick your foot in your
Mouth trying to be cool and that even played out in a sweet way no one looked better than
When they flubbed it trying to impress someone you did get favorable points back then and
Annette ruled as a queen in many minds and even today she’s gone but her light continues to
Shine down through the years it is carried in the most beautiful laughter and character started
On Disney’s lot but wowed far beyond after the mouse ears were laid down it came with a rush
On California beaches youth was right where it needed to be in the forefront because it only
Last For a seemingly brief summer and though it floats back in time again you’re only on that
Beam of Light and fully on and with it for magical moments we close our eyes in quiet respect
For a time and a special one who was and is unforgettable
Helen Jun 2014
Where are all the carnival rides
The Ferris wheel with bright lights
The fairy floss and cherry cokes
and the warm sultry nights
The call of the racketeer
encouraging all to take a chance
Where's the monkey you carried
just so we could hold hands

Where are all the park benches
that used to ring the pond
Where are the acres of green grass
where we sat as you sang me our song

and where have all the ducks gone?

Where has gone the soda shop,
the big band dance halls
and the local Ihop?

There stands the apartment block
where our little house once stood
Where have all the children gone
that we once watched from the stoop

Where are the endless games
of hide and seek and peek a boo
Where's the night gone, the fires out
Where is the heartbeat of our intimacy we shared in our bedroom?

Its all there in the asbestos ceiling
and in the plaster that is cracked
it crinkles beneath fingers
of cold cotton bed sheets
sterile of comfort and it lacks
the vibrancy of emotions
from another lifetime
Laying still, awaiting the ground
It drifts like fog in an ageing mind
Some people make it seem  so romantic and some would probably say I'm guilty
of exploiting it as well.
Well let me be the first to tell you there's no glory in burning out.

I live my life and to excess of course but it's not my mission to overdose or end up splattered across
Death isn't a choice it's a promise and to fear it is to worry over breathing its just part of the game folks.

The **** I write about isn't a fantasy or what I believe its like I've actually lived it.
And  out of a handful of people I know I'm lucky  enough to say I'm still here.
I cant tell you how to live your life and honestly I don't ever give a **** how you do.

I've done most every drug known to man  and some of them are rather overrated  
to be honest that's why I prefer *****  mainly because I really don't trust putting **** in my system made by people who look like they haven't slept or washed there *** in  two weeks.

Yeah cokes real good **** you stay paranoid as **** and if you get a good taste for it
it'll **** you bank account and your heart  but it is good to have on hand for picking up strippers.
Hey I'm just saying if you go to the woods to hunt animals you probably use bait.

Well my hunting ground is probably a lot more comfortable than yours but hey
whatever gets you off.

Where all checking out sooner or later but don't ever fall for that delusion that
getting out early  is ******* romantic **** if  I had pulled the trigger when I was a miserable ***  
teen I would have really missed some overrated times and some hot chicks who just
happened to lower there standards yes be used is kickass especially when you get a
happy ending out of the deal.

Live it as you will not as others would prefer cause only a spineless candy ***
plays it safe.

I write a lot of crazy **** cause I live a lot worse crazy ****.
But at least I have ******* fun.

Sure you can say **** it all  to this world.
Or you can really **** the ******* off and shake **** up till they put your ***
in the dirt.

Me I'm going to  go down with the ******* ship.
A drink in hand  and laughing like a madman the whole way down.

Cause nothing ***** with the ignorant worse than a son of ***** that just wont
stay down.

Cheers hamsters.

Edward Coles Mar 2015
I have been singing for forgotten things,
beer bottles hidden in the hedgerows.
The opera singer, the strangled vibrato,
ash-filled cokes cans; the afterparty sunrise.

This recovery has been long, fickle.
Reckless optimism and the science of failure
collide into the colour
of a Daniel Johnston cartoon,
or a songwriter's sense of humour.

Disused pencils stand as monuments
to old dreams of grass-roots art,
the fragility of neurotic *******
drawn with innumerable straight lines
that composite a woman's naked body.

I have been drawing on memories
and hoping for a brand-new image;
dissolution of old borders - a strangled voice
in a room full of opened tongues.

The Hawaiian shirt made light of depression
in darkened hours and wax smiles.
Plastic cocktails, the pending brides;
desperate men - the post-work demise.
I have learned a lie ever since.

This recovery has been imperfect, a fraud.
Swollen truths to satisfy the concerned,
only myself left to fool.
I have found the early morning
but cannot reach a sober conclusion.

Redundant habits mildew my mind
with the backwater of yesterday,
familiar street names to mourn
those who became strangers,
the negative bias of my mind's eye.

I have been writing words of action
from the safety of my desk;
all that the desk-lamp can illuminate,
all of which words can make sense.

This half-lived recovery is bunk, irretrievable.
Working poverty and untied knots
are co-morbid in meaninglessness;
chains to hold me in Plato's Cave
whilst her skin freckles in the sun.

Disused and living outside of love,
morning curtains open to a sheet of light
that obliterates loneliness
in the presence of shared heat,
only for it to return again, come night.
Thomas Thurman Nov 2010
For Pennsylvania is the Land
Where Men with Hearts may Understand,
And much the nicest part must be
The County of Montgomery.
And in that district I most like
The town that ends the Pottstown Pike.
For heaven's blessings rarely stick
to folk who live in Limerick,
and you would be the worse to know
the crimes that they commit in Stowe,
and heaven's wrath comes raining down
on men who live in Boyertown,
where sins are strange, and stranger still
are secrets hid in Douglasville;
they'd slit your throat for twenty pence
in frightful Lower Providence
and rumour tells me true that no men
are virtuous in Perkiomen.
But Pottstown, oh, but dear Pottstown!
Why, there a person may lie down
upon its riverbanks so stony,
or paddle in the Manatawny.
They laugh and love their life so well
They're purchasing a carousel.
(And when they get to feeling old,
A thousand senior Cokes are sold
with super fries and apple pie:
McDonalds, Hanover and High.)
This was fun to write.
Riding bikes
Skinning Knees
Time spent climbing
All the trees
Sit back and feel
the summer breeze
Remember how it was?

Swimming pools
Baseball games
Every kid had
funny names
The times they just
don't seem the same
Remember how it was?

Summer time was glorious
You only had a kids concerns
No school until September
You didn't care if you got burned
Summer time was heavenly
A pirates life , you led
You were out 'till past the sun went down
Then it was dinner, bath and bed

Marbles, swimming
At the creek
A hundred kids
playing hide and seek
Cadging smokes
Of which none would speak
Remember how it was?

Building forts
And running wild
Outside all day
where sunshine smiled
Living the life
Of every child
Remember how it was?

Summer time was glorious
You only had a kids concerns
No school until September
You didn't care if you got burned
Summer time was heavenly
A pirates life, you led
You were out 'till past the sun went down
Then it was dinner, bath and bed

Baseball, soccer
cards in spokes
Blood brothers
and ***** jokes
trading cards
and drinking cokes
Remember how it was

Running fast
and walking slow
A few weeks left
To school we'll go're it
Friend or foe
Remember how it was?

Summer time was glorious
You only had a kids concerns
No school until September
You didn't care if you got burned
Summer time was heavenly
A pirates life, you led
You were out 'till past the sun went down
Then it was dinner, bath and bed
Tyler Nicholas Apr 2012
What brings me here are multiple *** and cokes
and my lasting impression on so many of the
cool kids and the following broads
who think this is a cool thing to do.

Me? I feel my eyes start to fall red
and my face starts to resonate heat.

*****? No, I'm not at that point.


But I can see spots of light and feel my ears pop.
This is my life in a bunny costume.

In a Deadmau5 head my roommate crafted,
I DJ a basement of partyheads.
I smoke my cheap cigarettes and think
"wow, what would my mother think?".

I have never thought how this would spin my world upside down.
But this is Spring Weekend. And the dance floor is open
to new adventures and brilliant encounters with strange people.

I can only imagine how God is looking at me now.
William A Poppen Jun 2012
They heard she was a poet
who shocked the open mic
Friday nights with tight skirts
and loose words
that slid off her teeth
over her whiskey breath.
Truck drivers,  
who rode hard,
daily listened
for ******* screams
and honking horns,
came to see her. They
balanced on rustic chairs,
drank *** and Cokes,
and hoped she wanted
a ride to Reno.

She heard they were drivers
with sharp eyes and taut *****
beneath blue denim.  
She didn’t mind
weather beaten beards,
calloused hands or that
they would leave in the morning.  
She was a poet who
gathered words from interludes
among pillows and sheets that
aroused tomorrow’s verse
of wanton words and enticing skits.
Sophia Nov 2010
a tree did grow
in Brooklyn.        it was June--
our third-- and the summer weather
hadn't turned yet:
school was just out, Prospect Park was never full, and the nights
were still              cool.

it was summer in the city before it comes unglued.
i had yet to resent the F train terminal
or its crowds
or its sweat.  i hadn't grown bored
of 23rd St. on one end of the day
and Church Avenue on another,
or of the cost of cigarettes
or coffee or of the FOODTOWN sign
at the top of the subway steps.
it was a beautiful month
because it was doomed barely to last
its 30 days.

and there were too so many long hours,
sitting                  barely shaded
on your stoop,
fending off the landlord's sister and the bugs and waiting
for the fall.
each time i've gone back
since then i've sat
on those slow steps;
that summer it was no different:  three months to crown three
moving                  so timelessly

that next month the heat bore down,
not the heat only of the sun and the air but the wet,
***** heat of the city,
steam forever rising from underground, the oil spills
in the gutters         beginning to boil.

but still it was New York
and summer.  the roaches and rats hadn't yet
eaten                     all the fireflies.  
i grew to love routine
disquiet:  the long car rides to Queens,
the Mets games and their pretzel smell and riding back,
inevitably discouraged,
my homemade tank top leaking Magic marker onto my chest;
the trips to the beach at Rockaway, sullen and determined, and their return
to Manhattan, tasting like salt (and you, once,
like blood) and my hair stiff
with brine and feeling the sand in our shoes grit
against the ***** sidewalks;
those quick walks
from Smith&9th Streets,
sipping Mexican Cokes and rationing our time
by cigarettes:  
all of July was exhausting,
but familiar by then.

in August the tornado came,
first Brooklyn'd seen in 30 years.  we two
slept blissfully through it, woke only
for the aftermath.
we went outside almost giddy, certainly
holding hands.
and the tree
which had stood outside so
was uprooted,
having missed the bedroom window
by only a few feet.

[it was June--
barely shaded
so timelessly
beginning to boil
all the fireflies.]
copyright SophiaBurris
Jenny Oct 2013
Be with me in ****** footprints / in your mom's silverware sets / in stucco walls

I want to sleep on dark leather couches with you.

Tell me more about cable:
I want you to introduce me to damp grass on football fields that we skateboarded to underneath the stars that I was with when i was away from you

Hello, earthling!
Let's do normal Earth things together (I could be a person for you)
I fixed the thermostat so that my bedroom can be habitable for human beans such as yourself

Drink six Diet Cokes with me so we can put six dead ladie bugs inside the bottles and BlowThemUpWithFire

"Yes, I know about fire! I've seen it all before OK! And I want to pretend I haven't so that i can ooooh and aawwwhhh when you show me !!!!"

I want to be a person for you.

Spray paint my bones gold when you're done crafting my skin into a turban so that I know it's real - I made this for you
DDK; ***** Dank Kush
I light it up like arson to a bush
I paint the town red just like my eyes
If my mom knew it would be a surprise

I fall down, I don't know why
I see my life before my eyes
I realize that this kush laced with coke
I pray for saftey I pray for hope
Then I realize cokes ******* awesome
I punch a kid, I punch a possum

I go home and **** my *****
Not realizing that it was actually my landlord, what a ****
I think that coke and me will be alright
I ride into the sunset all night.
Ja feel.
Patrick Raven Feb 2012
two orders

black pepper chicken

with fried rice instead of white rice


one order of General Tso chicken

and Crab Ragoons

with 2 cokes

and I’m using cash

forty minutes?

okay, thank you.
Ashley Kay Feb 2014
If I compress you
into witty lines
maybe I'll feel better,
If I could take back
the bonfire smell
and whiskey cokes
I might,

If I could lie and say
that you weren't the
only one to grow
roots in my mind
I would,

The hometown blood
runs deep and the
dance we did was
a path too steep
to stay in your keep
for the rest of time.
AshleyKay2014 The last words, I put it into a poem and I am able to be at peace with this.
Amanda Goodness Jun 2016
Chaotic neutral lighthouse sirens.
The spirits of sailors lost returning from sea.
Ethereal beings and what not.
Insert sappy and haunting intro here.

It's 1941 and we are writing love letters,
Tucking them into a big oak tree
To retrieve on our way to and from school.
Cherry cokes and late night smoke breaks.

My downstairs neighbors are fighting,
And I'm watching snow land on the ocean.
I don't feel special.
Uncharted waters and peeling wallpaper.

"Vinyl is better baby,
Trust me,
You must have lost your edge."

Drop Dead
Skinny like a Starbucks drink with zero sugar, zero guilt and full of almond-milk joy.

Skinny like a microwaved meal, perfectly portioned and easy to count.

Skinny like  two diet cokes and a cigarette for lunch.

Skinny like Adderall, a high dose for higher grades.

Skinny like late nights and random *** with strangers.

Skinny like virginity.

Skinny like binge-purge-repeat.

Skinny like perfection, like mints and sadness and tight little swimsuits.

Skinny like a disorder.

Skinny like control out of control.

Skinny like a diagnosis.

Skinny like suffering.

Skinny like her.
shika Oct 2013
These things we do, we who feel too much.
We who the world tries to crush every day.
We who have to fight for every breath.

I have no problem with a joint
A glass of wine or port. Even a forty in its brown paper jacket.

I have known many who partied.
And many who partook in secret or just alone. I have known. Many who spread their skin with blades,
A vent for excruciating pain.

And often times I sit alone, watching.

I've been called naive because I don't see the world as a thing that necessarily has to e ****** up. I choose to hope for the best rather then give in to the critics. And I wish to eliminate the victims.

Victims are those who have stuff done to them. Terrible stuff. All over the spectrum. I don't want us to be victims.

Everything has its place. Even as a warning sign. I believe cannabis was created for a reason. But my friends, that reason is not for you to exist in a sad state of numbness that allows you to keep yourself from taking action. It's not to numb the side effects of a broken heart a broken spirit a fractured soul.

I have gotten softly drunk in Italy , sipping on white whine and nasty ***** and cokes  and called our host a non specific Italian name.   Whiskey can be used to numb injuries. To prepare soldiers for amputation in primitive times. But my friends, alcohol is not there to make you bold or keep you unaware.

To the sorrowful souls who have so much pain they have to slice themselves , starve themselves , harm their selves to survive, I ask you to be strong. You are not a slave to the blade. You are strong enough to change your life  

To my dreamers, we must stop numbing ourselves as to not have to deal with reality. I believe so many of us do that the that real
Change of ourselves and others and the world is pushed even farther away. And we are what humanity needs. The need people who feel and hurt and need and love and create.
They need Someone to help
Someone to offer a  better choice.

This is rough and not well written

But the dreamers have been on my heart tonight.
i am a fine eater i eat everything

i feel like eating chocolate and many other things

and i feel like giving up and i have a craving

a craving for toothpaste

but i don’t wanna eat it because it is for teeth

i feel like drinking orange juice as well as chocolate

i eat chocolate and i gain weight

i want to stop eating junk food

he;s eating junk food, he’s like us now man

i feel like a chocolate bar as well a a chocolate mousse

i feel like a packet of biscuits as well as a big bottle of coke

please stop theser cravings please stop these cravings

like LOLLIES, YUMMY OLE LOLLIES, makes you fat but still tastes great

lollies put on a lot of excess weight, too much sugar

i am 162 kg, from eating too much sugar

yeah, dudes, my sugar count is high

i like cheesecake or vanilla slices as well as butter popcorn

which, that tastes soooooo nice, like me, i guess

i feel like two flavoured milks which can put on a lot of kilos

and i feel like a nice packet of mint slice biscuits and a 2 litre bottle of lemonade

lovely lemonade, and a 2 litre bottle too, and a beautiful sponge cake

sugar causes diabetes, and diabetes is caused by too much sugar

and i buy a tub of ice magic and pour it all over the ice cream

yes, i do feel like a tub of ice cream

and i have a sweet tooth a very big sweet tooth

chocolate and vanilla slices and milkshakes make me tick

and the yummy ole lollies make me feel happy

but each ounce of sugar i do eat can add on the weight

like every bottle of coke i do drink refreshes my mouth and body

like red coke and vanilla coke and coke life and coke zero really adds the fucken flavour

i do a poem in the poetry slam and coke is my reward

i was walking today and i smelt the wonderful cake in my fat body

i don’t want to be fat, but the sugary is solo addictive

the toothpaste is so addictive, but i must stop myself

i know i have a sweet tooth but i need to look further down

because sugar causes belly problems and dental problems

and my mental illness medication is making me crave all these wonderful foods

like hamburgers and chips and mexican nachos and cream buns

puts on weight, i can’t resist i ****** can’t resist, it’s clogging up my arteries

but i can’t seem fro stop the cravings

money buys sugary foods and drinks, i feel poor

i want to be rich and resist  these foods, i would love to have mates

but i am poor and i can’t resist these foods

i hear old school chums calling out to me, eat it brian eat it brian eat it brian

sometimes i can’t resist not to

but i want to, i will eat all these foods in one day

who can give you chocolate for many times you knew

who can rip the strawberry out of strawberries and cream lollies yeah

yeah i can eat a whole packet of marshmallows and strawberries and cream

as well as milk bottles and freddo frogs as well as a packet of 10 cherry ropes

i can eat chicken twists and cheese twists

as well as a packet of cheese and bacon *****, again too much sugar or saturated fats

bad for me very very bad for me, but i still eat it

i got addicted to coke when i was buying my second coke, and the lady said

you must be very very thirsty, mind you i was very thirsty but the sugar put coke ahead of water

and i went to the club and had a few sugary cokes and i bought a few packets of saturated fat crisps

as well as another sugary chocolate bar, i was thinking sugar is better than alcohol

but they both are as bad as each other

it is a lot of food to consume

who loves orange soda, brian loves orange soda is it true, yes i do i do i do oh yeah

you see food is the wicked witch and your body are the children she has

today i bought a nice sumo salad, a takeaway option

and i had two oranges as well as two dips, still bad, but all this are my preferences for a dessert i don’t need
Abhilaaj Sep 2015
The moonlight deprived
those couples of an Asian slum
as if herded together in a plastic drum
who lived in a roofless brick- less shove
much like a Mal- functioning, Primes-stove.
It also deprived those, whose
tin- sheet- roof bore gaping cracks
as the results of heavy monsoon downpours
as the result of
unruly monkey- like clouds’
aqua- missile- attacks.
These youngsters were robbed by the silvery -  mask –clad
bullies of the moonlight
who shackled them in their homes and held them tight.
It robbed them of the throbbing- pillows of arms
of caressing balms, of cuddles, of charms, of lullaby- songs.

As a giggling newlywed bride pointing index- finger at sky, said
" I am scared of the full moon,
as I proceeded the other day  to hug my man
he stared from above , like a mischievous goon. "
It denied privacy to the folks
who sobbed in embrace together in pain.
Their elder son was, in a religious frenzy stabbed
and the middle was crushed under a streaming train.

It denied the anonymity to the bald tooth-less woman
who was caught sipping coke from the fridge
and who, by her grandson was whisked
from the kitchen Store- room
--- which she shared in her late husband- built- house,
with a jumbo mouse--
and asked to sleep on the fan- less Veranda.
Where she lay reminiscing the crate- fulls she stuffed,
-- as she smiled and coughed--
into her fridge,
in her youth
of Cokes and Miranda !
Moon light is in a way a damaging goon who deprives the poor, sick, the bereaved and the homeless sections of our society from their privacy.
Lawrence Hall Feb 2017
A Burner on the Bridge

A burner on the bridge.  A human burns,
Trapped in technology and beer and fire
We hear the cold dispatch, the desperate call
To go, to see, to mend, if possible
We drive.  The flashers, blue and red, rotate
In the startled faces of those we pass
At speed, Hail Mary speed, surreal speed
Time, motion, space, and light obscure the night

In a pattern tail lights wink dim, then bright
Stalled traffic makes a long glowworm in reds
Boats, trailers, trucks, tankers, Volkswagens, Fords,
People in shorts drift around, slug Cokes, laugh
Unshaven men smoke cigarettes and swear
Blue-haired killers in Chrysler New Yorkers
Blink blankly through bifocals in the glare
Of flashers and flashlights, flares and taillights.
A burner on the bridge.  A Human burns.

We drive slowly through the curious crowds
Who mill about and stare and point and laugh
They consider a charred corpse fair reward
For being delayed on their trip home from the lake
When they ‘rive home they’ll hoist stories and yip:
“I was there; I seen it, man; it was gross!”
But some already are anxious to go
They honk, and pop a top, and cuss the cops.
A burner on the bridge.  A human burns.

Below the bridge, old, silent water lurks
Oozing warmly, fetidly, in its drift
Slithering blackly in the warm spring night
A silent observer of fire and death
A carrier of beer cans and debris,
Radiator coolant, plastic, and blood
Concrete pylons pounded into the mud
Where once were trees.  And now the water sees
A burner on the bridge.  A human burns.

The bridge is an altar.  The wreckages
Are vessels sacred to our gods, the dead
Are sacrifices to our gods, an incense of death
Our offering is broken flesh, and blood:
“The is my body, burnt on this spring night;
This is my blood, shed on the center stripe.
A burner on the bridge.  A human burns.

A shapeless hat among the smoking ash,
Old clothes, a shoe, cans of beer, fishing lures:
The sad trifles and trinkets of the dead
Now, firemen in their yellow rubber suits
Climb slowly through the tortured, broken steels
And gently stow a man into a bag
Ashes and smoke, green radiator fluid
The old river flows, wherever it goes.
A burner on the bridge.  A human burned.

Hours later: coffee at the Dairy Queen
High school baseball players yelp cheerfully as
They wreck fast cars in a video game.
Under the fluorescents, the flashers seem
Still to turn, endlessly turn, in the night
Hamburgers, possibly char-broiled, are gulped
Sloppily, laughingly, as cleated feet
And deep-fried breath cheer a video death.
A burner on the bridge.  A human burned.

A burner on the bridge.  A human burned.
When class let out at RHS
we'd head over to the Roadrunner.

We sipped cokes, smoked and told jokes.  

We gab away about the breaking scandals,
foibles and doomed love affairs vexing ourselves
and fellow classmates.

Cartoons danced on the back wall
fully animating the teenage angst
running rampant in the room.

In between bites of Mr. Snyder's
delicious French Fries and
charbroiled burgers,

Beamie would share her wise counsel,
opening an understanding ear while
offering an obliging shoulder
for tears and comfort.

Sharing with Beamie,
a trouble disclosed was instantly halved,
joys were resoundingly doubled.

Beamie’s resolute friendship
was beautifully wrapped
in the simple gift of her presence.

The loud jukebox would blare
Alice Cooper’s “Eighteen”
Black Sabbath’s “War Pigs” or
The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes”.  

Beamie didnt care much
for hard rock so she
sidle up to the juke,
drop a dime and play
Chicago’s “Colour My World”.

Beamie loved the song.  
She’d get lost in the rapture
of its ethereal melody.  For her,
I believe the song reflected the empathy
and deep emotional connection she so cherished
with friends and the people she deeply loved.

So to honor our dear friend, I plunk
another dime into the juke to spin
her favorite tune once more.

...As time goes by,
I realize, just what
You mean to me…

Dearest Beamie,
we marvel at the
rich abundant life
you crafted for yourself
and all who were blessed
to be touched by your love.

You leave this world
surrounded by a
thriving family and
a diverse community
of friends authored
by the love you so
shared through a
selfless life…

...And now
Now that you're near
Promise your love
That I've waited to share...

Beamie, you have kept
every promise, every pledge
you made to Lou, Michelle,
Jessica, Mason, Haley
Julio, Norberto and
your diverse group
of colleagues and
beloved friends.  

Your love created a
new generation that carries
the blessed DNA of a vibrant

It will grow and illuminate
the pathways and hearts of
many successive generations.

...And dreams
Of our moments together
Color my world with hope of loving you...

Beamie, you lived
a well lived life.

As your travel back
to the *****
of eternal love,
your spirit walks
with all who you
loved and all who
deeply loved you.

The hues, palettes
and rainbow of colors
you generously painted
onto family and friends
indelibly marks our identity

The memory
of your perfect
alabaster smile
ignites a instant joy
at the mention
of your name.

Your round brown eyes
manifested the earthen
wisdom you generously shared.

The scarlet flame
of a fully bloomed
summer rose
recollects your open heart
and sacred home
and the warm hospitality
offered to all who were
blessed to knock on your door.

The emotional avowal
of your ebullient embrace
chased away the blues
of doubt on many occasions
and reassured the
affirmation of friendship.

The silver strands
of your noble tresses
crowns your being
in maternal saintliness.

Dearest Beamie,
So many in this
drab gray world
have been colored
by the brilliant palette
of your blessed life.
I know you added
some wonderful
pictographs to the
multicolored mosaic
of my life's story.

I bless you for
our golden friendship.

Well done beloved.
God Bless and Godspeed.
love, mac

Kathleen P. Bumpass
3/25/56 - 6/1/17

Music Selection:
Chicago, Colour My World

Long Branch
written for a beloved friend
and recited at Beamie's funeral service 6/5/17
Brianna Jan 2015
Staying awake under terrifying night skies filled with endless ways to wonder (wander?)

Drinking ****** *** and cokes until I pass out in this dive bar down the road from your house, maybe I'll become one With the stars.

I like the simple things, nature, the ocean... Well, but those are not simple things at all.

Driving through crowded city streets just to find some peace of mind and end up screaming at some guy who cut me off.

I liked the simple things in life, you, and me, us? Well... Those were Never simple things.

So tonight, I'm moving on from *** to *****. I'm praying to porcelain gods hoping I wake up to my head not spinning and my stomach trying to ****** me from within.

I'm clearly drunk again. Simple things were never my strong suite.
Viseract Aug 2017
So i sit here spinning my pen again
Tryna think straight too late, easy man
Runnin' up, too fuck3d i don't have a chance
Too quick, too slick, made it to the end

Now what should I write before i get sidetracked?
Should i spit a little quicker about rhymes and raps?
How about advertise them jumping jacks
And how exercise is good at keeping down bad fat?

Nah man, that ****t sounds lame
Yeah i know but the actions always stay the same
Eat Maccas life hackers who cant cook a meal
And wonderin' why their trusty rusty weight scales squeal

Yeah dude, i know that a problem, hold
No matter what you sell it all gets cold
Like frozen cokes, just a dollar fast sold
Syrup and sugar that tastes too good to close

**** these hoes,
Wash it all down like a fire hose,
Where this ****t goes even i don't knows,
But I'm the writer y'all
Pshh I'm in control

Its easy too
Whip out the cash and drive on thru
Without a second glance at whats in your food
And why do i try to write to you
I'm just in the mood

Now this ain't a diss track just spittin' facts
But if ya keep buying quick you'll get heart attack
Some cardiac, not police, still arrest
Freeze with both hands up like be my guest

You'll wake on up with an oxygen mask
And wondering why your mouth tastes like a$$
Why you layin' on your back and ya wanna pass gas
But you fear if you do then your life won't last

You look to the roof and see the truth
When the bulge of your belly blocks the blinding view
Casting a shadow across the next street too
And you wonder how the doctor gonna quick-fix you

Well here's some news, flash ****!ng headlines
Perhaps if you were careful you wouldn't hear the sirens
Alarms are sounding both within and without
Never heard either, your lips flap like a trout

Just a fat-**** fish ****!ng gasping for air
Out of his habitat, look in the mirror
Because if there's one thing left to haunt your nightmares
Its the 1-0-0 flashing back to scare

Its easy man, easy man
An everyday person who doesn't really care
Easy man eats like a ****** big bear
And then a little more coz the coin helps to share

Its easy man, easy man
An everyday person who doesn't really care
Easy man eats like a ****** big bear
And then a little more coz the coin helps to share

Like whats your pant size, is it such a surprise?
Your belt buckle bursts because you got large fries?
For every day, and you got sausage thighs
God help the plane freighting you through the skies!

Sorry sir, all luggage is 20 and under
"I cant hear you, my thighs are thunder"
Your baggage sir, its far too large
The amount of fat flesh exceeds the limit by far!

Just danglin' there, and its hard not to stare!
When its in my face like when i trip the stairs!
That s**t could knock me out, fair and square!
Miley Cyrus, i found a free wrecking ball dear!

There's so much to swing from, a chandelier
Of quivering pale skin that makes my eyes go weird
When you take a seat, do you have to use two?
Do you gotta pay extra for the crane that they use?

****, son just take it easy
You spittin so much its makin' me queasy

Sorry man, it doesn't make much sense
Why the easy man cant walk up more than one stair

Like not only is it an inconvenience
You're relying on strangers spaces to be lenient
And then you gotta wonder why you get funny looks
That weight is a crime and they spotted the crook

Just take it easy, but not so easy
I don't wanna see your face shine so god-**** greasy
Like i get it man you eat when you ain't hungry
I ain't your next meal stop lookin' funny

But please, learn to look after yourself
Book a time for the gym to improve yourself
Do some jumpin' jacks it'll improve your health
Take in a few notches off that black leather belt

See? Dude, that ain't so lame
At least there was a message left halfway sane
Yeah i got half a brain, it don't take two cells
To realise that some people just as sick as well

He was an easy man, easy man
A fat fast **** who didn't really care
Once upon a time ate like a ****!ng dumb bear
Now he's callin' out the Rock for an arm wrestle, YEAH!!

Easily the easy man comes real quick,
Jumpin' jacks over the Hungry Jacks fix!
EP definitely
Terry Collett Sep 2013
Fay sat opposite Naaman on the bus
from outside the cinema
to London Bridge
her fair hair tied

in a ponytail at the back
wearing the lime coloured dress
that Naaman liked
the white open sandals

touching at the toes
she was quiet
and looked out
the window

as the bus moved off
Naaman studied her profile
the way her hair
was drawn back

and tied with a black ribbon
her ear
with the small ear ring
her pale cheek

the eye blue
and gazing out
one hand over
the other on her lap

the nails clean
and neatly clipped
the bus stopped
and started

and people got off
and on

some standing
most sitting
when the bus
came to London Bridge

they got off
and crossed the road
and down by the Thames
where they stood

looking at the passing water
you’re quiet today
Naaman said
looking at her

beside him
her elbows resting
on the low stone wall
I was almost

not allowed to come
she said
he said

because the nuns said
I hadn’t performed as well
as they had expected
in my tests at school

she said
and so what happened?
he asked
my father was adamant

I was to stay home
and work at my school work
she said
but my mother said

I could do that
when I came back
and that it was only fair
that I have some time

of relaxation
and that caused a row
and then after fuming
and slamming around

the house he relented
and said I could go out
providing the visit
to London Bridge

had some historical merit
and I said it had
and that I was going
with you

she paused
and looked away
at a sailing boat
going by

and then what?
Naaman asked
he wasn’t happy about that
she replied

but I said you knew history
of the Bridge
and were going
to show me things

and he said do you
have to go
with the Jew boy?
I said I liked you

and he said
but his lot killed Jesus
and so on
Naaman gazed

at her lips as she spoke
he liked the way
her lips moved
as she talked

her eyes were bright
with an inner anger
then what did he do or say?
Naaman asked

he said I could go
but if he heard
any bad reports
there’d be trouble

and to know
what to expect
she sighed
he knew what was meant

but said nothing
how about something
to eat and drink?
he asked

I’ve only got 1/-6d
she said
which my mother gave me
on the quiet

I’ve got money
he said
my mum gave me
for chores I did

so they walked along
the embankment
to a cafe
and ordered two cokes

and shared sandwiches
and sat and talked
and watched boats
and ships pass by

on the river
she dreading going home
to her father’s possible

but not saying
he thinking
of the Roman fort
across the water

centuries before
she looking at Naaman
thinking of the kiss last time
now wanting it more.

— The End —