smoke hung heavily, lazily, in the hot summer air...
i remember it, so vividly.
she sat there, in a beach chair
under the bridge;
and i, on the rocks, my legs crossed under me.
the atmosphere was calm, and in the background,
bob marley...
resting between my index finger and thumb,
a burning joint; a cloud gathered
in front of my face, thick and potent.
through it, i saw a hole in her shirt,
caused by a dropped cherry from
some other time.
i wiped the sweat from my forehead;
the heat clung to my body.
behind her, i saw green.
the trees flourished. behind them,
i saw the creek.
she lifted the ganja to her lips
and the red ember glowed violently,
then died a little when her hand rested on her knee again.
oh, the memories.
memories of a hot summer day.
Author notes
the underpass, the train tracks riding above us, and bob marley mumbling his words through the speakers coming from that old mp3 player...
Comments
-
Old mp3 player?! Oh, the days of the iPod are upon us... well, I've been down the path that you speak of, dark it would have been if not for the heart- funny how the heart goes wherever we go, no matter which way it is... some memories for me, however, I would not aggrandize, but sweep them under the carpet, no matter how much they weigh me down, I cannot... HEY- this comment is supposed to be about your poem, not me! But then you know that if your poem gets someone to ramble, then your poem was transparent (read 'no flaws') and effective... so I see heart in your piece, a hint of lust, even... (that which society tries so hard to regulate- for our own good, of course!) Well, write on, and on many things, for your heart will always be there, speaking...
Adding your comment:
