Someone’s fingers are itchin’
to pull the trigger. Call it:
The chemical rub-out before
the sun does its work. Still,
a middle class family
appears (such a rarity
these days). The dull colors
frozen like a Ted Turner classic.
What happened that night is momentarily
forgotten; They are ready
to celebrate with two candles lit,
a four, a five, sunk into Mother’s
cake. The youngest boy emerges
from solitary confinement, his wish
exhaled, gone in a flash.
9 comments:
A good piece. Captures a time well.
Interesting. Accurate portrayal of the whole Polaroid thing, too.
WOW!
Whatever happens to all those wishes made? I never think back to recall if they came true.
Enjoyed the read. Nice work. MW
We all miss Ward Cleaver. Why the reruns.
The old days were better.
In my dark moods, I think what we have now is fallout from the yippie dippies.
And they too, had to go out and get a job.
Happy 45th, Bro
Love it, man!
Happy Virgo birthday, dude!
Hey Jim,
Excellent poem! Love the picture and the last line.
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