That Day In '73

That Day In ‘73

That day in ‘73 was as clear and pristine as glass ice,
Torched by a brace of smitten souls falling in love.
There was no lush music to be heard in this duet,
No swiveling rhythms or conga lines for the long dance,
Nay, these two lovers found quiet shade and a fantasy,
Parked intimately beneath a black walnut tree in August.
I saw the sun peeking at us through rustling green leaves.

You and I made constant eye contact and talked
Incessantly in the dallying breeze as the hours
Strutted forward like a striking drum beating silence.
Our eyes and mouths salivated with each salty utterance.
You talked with a Texas drawl showing white lusty teeth
As you sat cross legged showing bare brown gams,
Slender and shining as polished chrome on a new statue.

Who could have known then it would end up a naked failure,
A meteoric plunge from utter infatuation to the deep abyss of
Dysfunctional love, strangled by fiascos of precision and symmetry,
Of heightened expectations canceled in the sweating darkness,
The inability of breaching the sweetened walls, the ripe walls,
Of this nineteen year old mansion hidden below the tracks, with 
This well-shaped Saturday night walking around with nothing on.

That day in ’06 was as cold and overcast as icy black dirt,
Casting a pall of paralyzing grief the size of a granite temple;
There was subdued string music emanating from a boom box,
As the mother and her living sisters stepped up to see the body,
The sunken tan face that once spoke with a sultry Texas drawl,
Once lay naked in the breast-kissing darkness with eyes staring up;
Now the shining statue sleeps with Cancer there, being kissed again.

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