Just
because I haven’t written a poem for Katie in a while doesn’t mean I’m not
thinking about her or that I’m any less in love with her.
I’ve
been warm for her form and intoxicated by her whirling dervish mind ever since the
world crawled from God’s cold, dead hands and became its own force to be
reckoned with.
Evolution
is but a cliff note and if you don’t believe me just ask Charlie once he’s done
playing with his tortoises and hanging out with Snoopy and Woodstock.
Look
I hardly know what I’m going on about and that’s all on account of Katie Boyd
and how she affects my mind.
It’s
as if I’m drunk and I hardly even had a sip of wine. In fact I’ve been drinking
diet grape juice all night and haven’t smoked any pot in far too long a time.
She’s
the girl next door I always wanted to get to know, but was too afraid to
approach because I figured she was way too cool for the boring and trying likes
of me.
I’ve
been a wallflower long before wallflowers came into vogue and I don’t expect to
bloom anytime soon even though I’m nearly fifty years old and being an adult is
something I should have committed to a long time ago.
I
don’t have any blueprint and perhaps that’s the issue at hand because I never
plan for anything and when it comes to preventative medicine I’ve always opted
for less pills and more prayer.
Her
inquisitive eyes and winsome sighs brought me to this jumping off place where
the rubber meets the road and the hopeless romantics either get with the
program or end up left out in the cold.
Charles Cicirella
4/12/17
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