Poetry in Motion

Reading your poems

filled me up

like a soda-shop milkshake

made from scratch,

with vanilla ice cream,

and chocolate syrup,

in its own silver

ice-cold

metal container.

It’s 1964.

The jukebox

is playing 45’s

in the background.

The booths are filled with

Haverford high schoolers.

Watch me delight

in my happiness

as I sip my frothy, cold drink

through a paper straw,

whose wrapping I’ve removed

and blown into the air,

so it can hit the friend

sitting across from me

square on the nose.

I duck

to avoid

her retaliatory missile,

so it lands

in my water,

and sends us

into loose-lipped

paroxysms of giggles.

Oh, oh, oh,

it seemed

easier

back then,

to slurp up

life’s

every, last

drop,

didn't it?