Wednesday, July 18, 2012

For Sonya,

The applause in the trees
as they rustle in the breeze.

The pain in the rain as it
falls, dampening the walls.

The troubles in the bubbles
blown by summer girls in curls.  

The fun in the sun
browning beach sands and lands.

The heat of the street
cooking sandal clad feet.

The time to make it rhyme
so Sonya won’t drown me
in ammonia or send me to

She’ll snicker,
She’ll snort,
She’ll sip her liquor,
and contort.

Perhaps she'll be sated
and I won’t be weighted


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