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Full moon ... or nearly ...
I sit on the pier as it groans with swells,
Dangling my nostalgic heart in the freezing Atlantic,
Forty-plus years gaze back at me, frowning.
(Is it my heart that speaks my name?)
Then - my girlfriend and best friend, also a girl,
Three mad musketeers on a runaway train of endorphins,
Lost in a chaotic swirl of confused emotional surges ...
Freedom, hormones, a van. the warm summer evenings.
(Is it my heart that fans the flame?)
I'd sneak in the sliding glass doors at six every morning,
Sleep a couple of hours, work in the family store from ten-to-six,
Drive the forty-five minutes to pick up the girls,
Then off ... the islands, the beaches, the city, the lake ...
(Is it my heart that seeks to blame?)
Craziness and music and all things that teenage kids shouldn't do -
Repeat the process the entire summer ... yeah, entire ...
How did we survive? How did we live on just three hours sleep?
Why is my soul the only one drowned in this bay?
(Is it my heart that feels the same?)
Why is mine the only forlorn spirit that wanders back, sullen?
The god on a cloud tossing pixie dust -
Watching it sink to the cold depths ...
With those damned, hopelessly hopeful dreams.
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2019