The Lost Kiss
The walking trail around the lake
crunches like a full bags of crisps
at a Fall football game.
The oak leaf refuse curls frost burnt inward.
The manmade lake still, motionless
a covering of snow cone slurry
drapes the depths.
Prepubescent boys lob mud covered
boulder bombs through the lakes sheath.
Babies born in Winters night
emerge enthroned in umbrella strollers
whooshed in cocoon-buntings by
proud twosomes through the Sping mud.
Jogging homemakers
with fish bottom white legs
hurl themselves round and round
the circular track careening past
young lovers who can’t unplug.
Missing the first kiss of Spring.
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009
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