Hmm, So Wistful

for the motel days.
for the barbecues and the merry-go-rounds
picking the best ponies,
not enough to go around.
so under the sheets, we are
looking for treats withheld
by men or women or the tempting

fire. So hot it feels
like coldness
fingers touch things
that hurt all the
time, yet
rarely learn from it.

It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t put
on a fireworks show nor let the hoses soak us dumb.

I’ll show you my stockings it you don’t mind
the tears. They run like tears down the backs
of my knees but I promise, embarrassing is not a new
feeling.

I have never been anywhere safer than this part
of my life.

It’s scary
– but no brothel, no dorm room, no institution.
Real life gives the misfits so much time to arrive.

Photo Credit: BuzzFarmers Flickr via Compfight cc

One Comment
  1. I love, love this poem….it brings the whole scene of going to our small town Fair that seemed bigger than big about 3 decades ago….it was so easy to be joyful then….oxen pulls, cotton candy, tilt-a-whirl, and you never got lost or scared and could run home if you needed to…..life was good and fun and the fireworks at 10pm said , all is right in our bucolic niche in the world…love, abu

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