Woke
up heaving like a Belgian sailor with a waffle stuck in their crow’s hatch
My
Sicilian grandfather would smoke any cigarette he had coupons for
Never
forget walking into my grandparents’ living room on Liberty seeing him smoking
a Virginia Slims Luxury Light 120 in his favorite recliner
My
poetry doesn’t need to make sense when you’re my muse steering me toward
distant shores and refurbished lunch counters
I
desire to kiss all of your tattoos in the order you got them or in alphabetical
order if that’s more to your irresistible liking
We
settle for brunch when breakfast was too difficult a task to master in the
middle of another underground war
I
imagine your second in command is a Siamese cat that speaks in haiku and your
most trusted of confidantes is a red-tailed hawk that loves discussing string
theory after a break of heron and wood rats
The
lively discourse of Alice was never challenged because Lewis Carroll was a
master at keeping things well hid including if his "little heroine"
was actually based on any real child
Libraries
are the only friend I’ve ever trusted without any reservations or lingering
doubts
Woke
up and when the heaving abated I made myself a cup of instant coffee and
remedied my vertigo by sitting down at the computer and writing this poem for
you
I
imagine us going to the park or some old time theater where the films are still
shown on an actual movie projector and when the lights go down no one talks or
munches their popcorn too loudly
We
mustn’t resist the temptation to live the life we choose to live
because even love can grow prickly if left on the vine too long
Charles Cicirella
12/22/18
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