those Connecticut crocks think they are too good for us
They look down their noses at me especially said Gus
They are snooty and snotty, their shoes are designer
I cannot stand to be around them; their son is a whiner
I was thinking the only whiner here was my cousin Gus.
But I did not say it, because I did not want a relative fuss.
Grandma invited the Connecticut crocks to Thanksgiving that year.
I actually found them to be delightful, insightful and pretty much dear.
How beautiful the lilacs grow
How ethereal their scent
Their colors from purple to pink and blue
and white like New England snow.
How beautiful the lilacs grow.
How beautiful they grow.
A man from Connecticut found
His legs would not reach to the ground.
“I wish I was shorter,”
He told a reporter,
“To stop all this floating around.”
Budweiser T-shirt
And hair to my jaws,
Viet Nam waning
While Watergate roared:
Was a summer in Milford,
On Long Island Sound,
In a cottage with family—
We swam and we crabbed,
Suffered sunburn a lot,
And bikini-clad girls
Went stealing my eyes
To teach me of beauty
And life’s ultimate prize.
He's a cowboy in Connecticut
All Southern drawl and wide tooth grin
No matter how he tries it ain't no lie
The boy just don't fit in
He wears his Stetson hat, Alligator boots
Jingle Jangle Spurs with stylish Chaps
He dresses the part this cowboy work of art
Draws attention wherever he's at
He loves his Karaoke
Always requests a yodel song
When he's up on the stage folks don't know what to say
As he asks them all to sing along
You may wonder why he's not in Texas
He prefers it brisk and cold
Since he was born and raised among the Northern crazed
But it's the cowboy life that stole his soul
He has no cowhand to help with roundups
Local Yocals wouldn't dare be seen with him
He rides and ropes on his bike cats and dogs at night
With no horse or cattle to his name
Cause he's a cowboy in Connecticut
All Southern drawl and wide tooth grin
Where no matter how he tries it ain't no lie
The boy just don't fit in
Five years later I still think about:
sitting on the wooden steps
of your backyard
in a heatwave
summer wind bangs the screen door shut
your hair against your face, sticky heat
gravel between our toes
sun burned rocks
sweating through my shirt
I can smell your deodorant
damp baby powder
you peel grapefruit into centimeters
and slip it between my teeth
just for heartbeat I can taste
your fingertips your skin
against my tongue
you taste like graprefruit with splenda on top
tart and left-handed sweet
and soap from the kitchen sink
a shield of clothesline towels
girls kissing girls under grey Bridgeport skies
Dear Newtown Connecticut, may you be filled with grace,
I turn on the T.V. to witness the tragedy~and find Love in IT'S place,
You are so strong in moving on~you have NO Choice I see,
I hear you cry but Hero's died~ You are the true HERO'S to Me!
Mourning the Little Angels of Connecticut
What a tragedy for all of us humans
To watch malice harvesting your youth
The noblest thing humanity can offer
To the everlasting universal truth
What an ecstasy for heavens above
As their gates open wide with glee
To welcome you our little angels
Into their glorious eternity!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
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