You know, I should keep better records about where my poetry is at any given moment. Not sure I've ever posted this one. But then again, I don't know. But Nature's season, the one we are experiencing right know, tells me that it is the proper time to post this write. P.S. If the pic is too small to read on the site, Left click on it and it will become larger. Magic!
Sometimes Things Change
he’d watch her all night long, watch her roll
lazily across the sticky summer sky.
The steady thud of cars passing by and over
the 9th Street Bridge kept him company as
he chain smoked Lucky Strikes,
sipped at a cold quart of Brew 102.
Just kicking back, staring up at her.
in their eyes and Saturday night
anxiously tugging at the crotch of their 401s
anytime a sweet young thing strolled by.
parked down by the dark shores of the South
Canadian, and watch in silence, just sitting there,
watching her endlessly roll.
Too many large craters along her brow, these days.
Shadows cut deep gullies along the inside
of her tender Maria . . . transforming her,
bending her pale smile into a dark and dusty frown.
Her charm all but dried up, and his desire
to be with her . . . all of a sudden . . . gone.
with loving eyes, and now? Now, he barely looks at her.
rrw 1-14-12 (rewrites 1o-2o-14)
Sometimes Things Change
He loved the Moon once, way back in the day.
Lying on the warm hood of his beat up ’51,he’d watch her all night long, watch her roll
lazily across the sticky summer sky.
The steady thud of cars passing by and over
the 9th Street Bridge kept him company as
he chain smoked Lucky Strikes,
sipped at a cold quart of Brew 102.
Just kicking back, staring up at her.
He wasn’t like them punk ass friends of his,
those young rowdy rednecks with spit in their eyes and Saturday night
anxiously tugging at the crotch of their 401s
anytime a sweet young thing strolled by.
No, he wasn’t like them, nothing like them at all.
He was content to sit on the hood of his carparked down by the dark shores of the South
Canadian, and watch in silence, just sitting there,
watching her endlessly roll.
Lately though, he noticed the Moon, his Moon,
her looks had started to fade, to go. Too many large craters along her brow, these days.
Shadows cut deep gullies along the inside
of her tender Maria . . . transforming her,
bending her pale smile into a dark and dusty frown.
Her charm all but dried up, and his desire
to be with her . . . all of a sudden . . . gone.
Somewhat sad it is.
How time can kill a passion.
Once he smoked and drank and gawked at the Moon with loving eyes, and now? Now, he barely looks at her.
rrw 1-14-12 (rewrites 1o-2o-14)
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