Chrissy, I can't explain why,
I mean I've over-heard the talk;
saw you dancing to the Black Keys’
"Tighten Up" the other evening,
I know the merry-go-round has spun
too fast a time or two for both
of us, but before last night
I would have said a skittish heart,
like anything fragile,
is too mindful, too highly attuned
to be snared, it's why tigers
succeed only once in twenty hunts
—the wary are that quick—
But there's still the one time, right?
I mean this heart of mine
acts like last night's kiss is the only watering hole
left on a sun hardened African plain,
I'm dancing around here like a marooned mariner
back on mainland after years with only
a tattered picture to remind of good times,
if you phone this evening and my caller tune
has suddenly changed to "Wild Thing"
or I answer singing "Girls Like You"
I'm okay; don't go worrying I've gone
loco, I'm feeling in tune with the world,
it's twenty two degrees outside, snow is falling
four inches an hour, but I'm clam happy,
like this morning when I heard the weather
man joke how if we could only see beyond
the clouds the sun and sky would be
the most beautiful yellow and blue.
Who knew, Chrissy. Who knew.
Don Monaghan has been published in The Boston Literary Magazine and The Ravens Perch. He resides in Upstate NY.
No comments:
Post a Comment