PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Now that we are together, take your shoes

off, and flaunt for me those semi-sheer socks,

quite fragrant; maybe, later. flavorful?

We left on time, this morning, by eleven.

Traffic delays---Gramps told us---must be the

fault of congested routes this spoiled-brat city

will not widen.  Gramps plans his life by clocks---

ours, too, when we are with him; and his soul

has no quarter for patience or for pity:

this lack causes his mouth to spew abuse,

and apoplectic rages misdirected

toward anyone who happens to be near

him.  When we arrived, the boarding pier

had closed; and nothing, then, would have availed

us---for the great ship had already sailed.

We watched its stately movement toward the sea

(that moment felt like some sad poetry);

while Gramps, red-faced, called down the wrath of Heaven

on New York's streets.  The Lusitania

grew smaller in our disappointed sight.

Still, this has turned advantageous to us

(no matter how much Gramps might spume and fuss):

we have some naked love to make, tonight;

so neither of us need, now, feel dejected.

Starward