Turning Up Her Imagination
keep the music sorrowfully low,
so big daddy doesn’t hear.
the shadowy figures, surrender
and whisper in your ear.
the psychedelic colors flow
like the sea foam beat.
Angie, your chromatic hair
smells incandescently sweet.
locked and loaded, alone
with your beastie dreams.
your pillow’s soft and it leans -
your coming apart “at the seams”
one boy plays peek-a-boo, sniffing
your honeysuckles suspended.
tickled by your goldilock curls,
not realizing all it portended.
like walking into the deep dark wood,
he creeps hand and foot, eyes first
like a prowling tiger, tail wagging,
with a rattling tongue a-thirst.
Angie, swooshes her fingers
through his hair, hushes him.
...he stares at the ceiling stars
...loud music descends on his limbs.
Angie digs her embryonic duffel bag,
smiles and adds his decomposing bones
to the ashes of her huge imagination
and recalls that in this world, she’s all alone.
5/8/2019
Musical Inspiration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Song choice: Angie, Baby by Helen Reddy
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