Skippin' Rock Blues
In childhood,
my near age cousin
well, he stuttered,
same's the sprinkler
in Grandpa’s garden.
Times my insides
stirred and shuddered, yet
tch-tch-tch-tch-ch-ch-ch-ch garnered
in this buddin’ gut
a calm percussion;
We two unique,
us ragamuffins,
only in communion
contra-crust of family cliques,
drifting in to tough'ning up;
I hated my red mane,
he hated talkin.
With cocked head, I said,
“Your twitched tongue is
awesome, like skipping rocks
at the lake."
An affected glance,
brief mutual look,
my red face matching pate,
awaited his lips to skip.
"Y-y-y-y-your hair’s
l-li-li-l-l-l-li-l-like c-c-copper,"
he smiled, like a rising penny sun.
He stood somewhat taller
then threw one last stone
into his Pa-pa's ample pond.
Thought we'd marry,
told’m so,
he was two years older,
I, in third grade,
had high hopes.
“L-l-l-laws against it,”
he explained.
Broke my heart;
two of us
forever changed.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
