Tuesday, October 03, 2017

Writing her poetry always makes me feel better. (For Katie Boyd)


She turns me on and I’ve never even met her face to face
I wonder if I turn her on and if she likes my face
My consonants and vowels desire to climb inside and take up permanent residence

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves
Let’s not fall in love with the first cute office worker with a Glasgow accent we meet
Let’s not declare ourselves incompetent until our competency is tested thoroughly

Breaking beneath the pressure of her afternoon matinee smiles
Walking along the breakwater with nothing, but our wits to protect us
Katie somehow keeps me calm by doing nothing as everything comes our way

I wonder if intellect impresses her more than athletic prowess
Does she feel more comfortable left to her own devices or welcoming the occasional nudge or wink from the Eye of Horus?
Is a library or coffeehouse more to her liking or does she prefer being put through her paces in the middle of the night as her music plays and cities burn all around her?

Shutting down is oftentimes the only way to uncover the missing pieces of our autumnal minds
When I saw her standing there with nothing on but her Wheel of Fortune jammies I knew I was in for the ride of my red wheelbarrow life
She’s every season wrapped up in a magnificent hillock of “sugar and spice and all things nice.”

Charles Cicirella

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