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

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.