Those floppy jeans, the paperboy hat,
red tank top with a yellow star on the chest and
where-did-you-get-those Converse on your feet
basketball in hand
ready for the heat in the summer city
little Scottie at your heals
his tail wagging, tongue hanging
following you to the park
the hot air rippling off the court doesn’t stop you
and those long wet curls that shake the sweat
like little diamonds scattering in the sun
unaware of what you are
the fantastic energy that is you
what every young girl wants
what every young man would be
you drink life—a fine chardonnay—
as if it were a cold glass of water after
the hours of basketball on a hot day
you just guzzle it without care
it runs over your fine-boned chin and
down your neck where the veins throb with life
your drunkenness comes out like sunlight
No comments:
Post a Comment