The Perfect Day
I awake in the stuffy camper living space,
and begin rubbing my hands across my greasy face.
Mosquitoes destined to die fly above, about the neon light.
Friends and family already awake waiting for me outside.
The door opens letting the breeze bring new life to the stuffy room.
Grabbing my white shorts and brown glasses I get up and exit my tomb.
My eyes begin to adjust to spring’s bright gloom.
My brother and childhood friends play by the lake shore,
father is cooking sausage on the little electric grill by the back camper’s door.
I open the fridge door and grab a V8,
while letting the sounds of laughter fill my soul till it aches.
Mom is rocking in her grandmother’s rocking chair,
the smell of pollen and mid-spring flowers fills the air.
I stride past my mom and perch upon the porch rail,
the glistening body of teal takes my breath away without fail
We will laugh, we will play, and be childishly free all day
and wish things would always be this way.
And this my friend is this poet’s ever perfect day.
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