PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

BlueShift's appearance was always very consistent during that summer;

his choice of clothing---a button-down, short sleeve shirt, baggy

bell-bottoms, midnight blue socks, and shoes that were commonly

called (in those days and that vicinity) "disco."

On Saturday, July tenth he had helped me to escape my mundane name, and the

overwhelming shadow of self-righteously parental disdain and disapproval

by helping me to find a new sense of identity.  That night, at the

drive-in theater, he slipped his shoes off and tossed them onto the rear

floorboard just after the cartoons began.

On Friday, July sixteenth, he slipped his shoes off just as we paid our

admission into the theater, before the cartoons began.

On Saturday, July seventeenth, he slipped his shoes off as soon as we

had exited the township on our way to the drive-in theater.

On Friday, July twenty-third, he slipped his shoes off as soon as we exited the

dead end street (and our families' residences) on our way to the drive in theater.

On Saturday, July twenty-fourth, he had slipped his shoes off before he left

his house, carrying them down the gentle incline to my parents' driveway.

All prudish inhibitions and intrusive societal expectations had, by that 

evening, withered away.  His midnight blue socks did not display evidence of

any grass-stain or sidewalk grime.  Their fragrance and flavor, and

softness and warmth, remained exactly as on all the evenings before.

That autumn afternoon, in seventh grade, Anthony had prepared me for this summer.

BlueShift, you bestowed upon me this pleasure---without ostentation or hesitation.

J-Called